My Guys
by Literature Is Life
Summary: I'd always been one of the guys. We were a group of best friends, simply being who we were. Little did we suspect, everything we knew was about to change. All in two weeks. So, this is my story. And theirs. AU TroyGabriella
1. Prologue

**-My Guys-**

**-****Prologue****-**

_My teachers would always tell me that the subjects I really excelled in were science and English. Oh, I was good at math too. But that's irrelevant. So when we got our final assignment in English this year, to write about a turning point in out lives, I decided to write about my dad leaving and how it resulted in my older brother, Aaron, leaving too. That was a really big turning point in my life, because it meant that from that point on, the only close family member I had was my mother, and I was all she had, too. _

_But I was also inspired to write about my guys. I also decided to put it in book form. It takes you through this two week period of my life with my guys where everything changed. I thought that if it was arranged in chronological order, it would make it easier to understand. Especially for the slower people I know – cough _Jason _cough – who even if they were there, would read and not know what was going on. (Now I bet everyone else is going to be wondering why they didn't get a shout out as well.) Looking back on it, I decided that, at some points, it was necessary to see other peoples' points of view. And so, I asked my guys_ _to do me a favor and think back as hard as they could. And then I asked them to write down what they remembered. Thankfully, they complied. _

_So…this is my story…and theirs. _

-x-

-x-

I have been "one of the guys" for as long as I can remember. But I'm not your typical 'one of the guys' girl because I'm not a tomboy. I'm not wearing sweatbands and oversized jeans, running around belching and screaming and fighting because that's just odd anyways. I'm semi-girly. Semi. As in, there's a girly-ness in me that likes to show itself, usually when it's least opportunistic. I've never felt the need to be full-on girly. It's not me. The guys at my school are all jerks who think they're the greatest thing since ever, and I don't feel compelled to impress them with skimpy outfits or pounds of makeup which make me look like an easy hooker. (And besides, I don't particularly care for skirts. They're hard to play basketball in.) Well, all the guys are jerks all except for my four. Yes, I often refer to them as my guys – although its usually in my head. Because in reality, they are my guys. They come first with me, and I come first with them. That's not going to change.

The funny thing is that my four are the four most coveted guys in East High. Let me introduce them: Mine include Troy Bolton, Chad Danforth, Zeke Baylor, and Jason Cross.

Troy is the basketball team captain and we're probably the closest because I've know him the longest. I can go to him for anything. He's a goof-ball that can be incredibly serious when necessary. He's the supportive one. The one you go to for encouragement or a life-sized tissue to cry into. Just being in the same room as him and you can't help but grin. Something about him has had the girls flocking for years though, and it's rather irritating to see hundreds of sluts throwing themselves at your best friend all day long. Especially when you are standing right there, waiting for him after school, and you can hear them trying to convince him to come over because their parents are out of town and they're whispering, "I can give you everything she can't." And by 'everything' they _usually_ mean sex. And I don't need to hear that about my best friend. I just don't. Who the heck talks to a guy they're flirting with about him not having sex with his best friend anyway? Is that some sort of new flirting technique that I missed? But something that keeps me smiling throughout the day is the reminder that they can throw themselves at him all they want; it's _me _he's going home with at the end of the day. (We happen to be neighbors. His house is directly behind mine, with this tiny little gate connecting our yards. _And_ he's the only one of us with a rich grandfather who bought him a car – a nice car. A _really_ nice car.)

Chad. What can I say about Chad… Chad is insane. But in a good way. He's awesome. He's the one you should go to when you need help on two subjects; comicality or revenge. He can make anyone laugh, no matter what. He also happens to have one of the most twisted minds I have ever encountered. He comes up with the strangest revenge plans. And the truly scary thing is…they work. In a way, I feel bad for him. He's always striving to be the best, but everyone always sees someone else first. And that someone else is usually Troy, his best friend. He can't seem to escape that 'side-kick' role. But I'm starting to think he likes it. He gets the same amount of glory and he only has to do half the work. Did I mention he's lazy?

Zeke is defiantly not your typical jock. Take, for example, the fact that his life passion is cooking. Not basketball, the sport he plays almost_ year round_, but cooking, the class he takes for _one_ _semester_. Actually, I think he took a course over the summer on year, too. However, give him the respect he deserves. That boy can make a wicked crème brûlée. His cakes are awesome pick-me-ups. And he's always there; he's my "shoulder to cry on" …if Troy isn't around. It sounds mean, but it's true. Troy's probably the best to go to for support. Chad… not so much, and Jason… You don't even want to go there with Jason. But Zeke will listen, and he'll give you a tissue or a hug, depending on which one would work better, and he won't complain and he won't say that helping you out makes him look like a wuss.

Jason is… out there. He always has been and I think he always will be. He doesn't really fit in, a lot of the time, just because he's the only truly stupid one. I love him like a brother and all, but he'd really dumb sometimes. He's pretty much the underdog, the weakling. It's kind of sweet, in a way, just because he's the little guy making it with the big dogs. Ugh. I think I just had a full-on girly moment. (I have those sometimes. I hate them all the time.) He's really good at imitating though. He's always watching Troy and Chad and Zeke, trying to learn what he's supposed to act like. He's always been a follower, not a leader. But he's doing pretty well.

And, I might add, they are all adorable. Just because I'm not an outright girly girl doesn't mean I don't have eyes. And it's not like I would ever consider them as more than friends.

People used to say, "When you get (insert one of my guy's names here), you get Gabriella." Sometimes, girls don't like that. In fact, there are a lot of girls who don't like that. Half the girls in East High hate me. Sometimes, when I get home, I just sit on my bed and laugh at them; they think I'm stealing their _men_. First of all, none of my guys are dating anyone, and second of all, we would _never _date each other.

I once caught a girl in the bathroom talking about how cute we were. 'We' being the five of us, the 'five of us' being me and my guys. I probably spent twenty minutes staring at my reflection in the mirror (something I very rarely do), trying to figure out how anyone could think I looked cute. I spent most of my years trying to avoid looking cute so that the guys at school wouldn't try to approach me. And why would I look cute with them specifically, if I have to look cute at all? They're like my brothers. Isn't that incest? (Well, I knowthat it's _not_, but it's almost as gross.)

In all honesty, sometimes having only guy best friends can get very tiring. They rarely do their homework. Correction; Chad rarely does his homework. And in the spirit of good friendship (and the horror of Wet-Willies), I often end up "helping him." Translation: I often end up doing Chad's homework. Not that he doesn't pay me back, of course. He does. He's the mastermind behind all of our evil plots. (Like the one where I soaked Jackie Carter's cheerleading uniform in barbeque sauce. But that was only because she kept slamming her crotch against Troy's leg while I was standing _right there_. And because I was sick of seeing her bleach-white skirt hiked up so high that whoever she wanted that week could see her too-tight Victoria's Secret panties with that damn glittery elastic part. See! It's disturbing that I know that!)

And seeing as they're all athletes, their second favorite thing to do, other than tickle (_torture_) me, is to play basketball. Now, this wouldn't be that bad if I played sports year round. But I don't. Because the girls basketball team only plays during the season, whereas the boys' basketball team practices years round. (Stupid sexist school board.) They can play for hours without getting even a little tired. It's sick, really. And they make me play with them. Even when I can barely stand because I'm cramping up or my lungs are about to give out; I play and they play until we're all going to pass out. And then we go inside and drink gallons of water and then collapse on the couch and watch a movie. Troy and I are the only ones awake and we're throwing the remnants of snacks at everyone else while they sleep. Ah…good times.

So that's really all you'll need to know about them. Anything that I've left out, I'll just tell you about later, I guess.

And now, I'm being forced to talk about myself. I have to "let the public know the writer" apparently. Well, you know what Troy, maybe I don't want to let the public know me! And now I have Chad's drool in my ear. So I guess I'll be letting the public get to know me.

My name is Joyce Chanuman. I'm a blonde with bright blue eyes.

I'm a swimsuit model who enjoys sunsets and long walks on the beach.

556-9431: Call me!

Alright, I've had my fun. More like my name's Gabriella Montez and I'm a brunette with brown eyes. Sorry boys, I'm not a swimsuit model and that's not my number. However, sunsets can be really beautiful and I used to love walking on the beach when I vacationed in Florida a few summers ago. I'm a branded nerd. I always have been. I always will be. But, that's okay. I really don't care what the kids at school think about me. I'm pretty sure that I would be at the bottom of the 'food chain' if it weren't for Troy, Chad, Zeke, and Jason. Being friends with them, makes me cool. Ish. Cool-ish is more like it. I've never really been cool to other people. I've just been cool to the cool. 'The cool' being my guys. The only reason that I'm not beaten up every day is because people – respect? – me. If I'm good enough for my guys, I'm just plain good enough. Understand? It's pretty confusing, even to me.

All the slutty girls hate me. The guys mostly ignore me (which I'm not complaining about). That's the basic rundown. I guess you could say I'm a four-person-maximum kind of girl.

Don't get me wrong; I talk to other people. Like, I talk to Taylor McKessie in science and math. And sometimes I'll talk to Eric Davis during our Scholastic Decathlon meetings. (Yes, I'm on the Scholastic Decathlon team.) I have friends at school.

But when it boils down to it, it's always going to be me and my boys. Always.

I think.

-x-

-x-

**Author's Note**: Alright, I've decided to try my hand at writing a full story and not just oneshots. This story will be AU and a majority of the narration is from Gabriella's point of view. This is the first time I'm really writing something with an extended plot so, please be gentle. Feedback would be greatly appreciated!


	2. The Beginning

-**CHAPTER ONE**-

**-Monday-**

-**The Beginning (Commence)-**

_I am so close. A mere four feet away, actually. I am so close that I can feel it. If I were to take a moment, I bet I could reach out my hand and touch it. But I don't have 'just a moment' to take; the clock is still ticking. Just one quick fake to left and I will be scoring the winning basket. Only one very tall red-head stands between me and victory. I can hear a constant tick, and I know that time is running down on the clock. The crowd is roaring around me, all cheering. It's getting harder and harder to distinguish who they are cheering for. As I contemplate what to do, the ticking turns to muffled knocking. Faking left, I pass to my teammate, who happens to be Troy (which is odd, because it's not a coed team), and I move to get in a position where I'm open. The knocking sound is becoming more persistent and the people in the crowd are finally beginning to chant my name clearly._

"_Brie, Brie, Brie…" Troy passes the ball back to me and I launch it into the air. Someone bursts into the gym and we all freeze (even the ball) and turn to look at the newcomer. It's Chad, running at us with a backpack. His stupid afro is bouncing around and I want to cut it off for interrupting my winning shot. He's mouthing something, and I glance at Troy. He can't hear either. Together, we shout for him to either speak louder or get the heck out. He cups his hand over his mouth and shouts, but he's still to far away. One final time, he tries to convey his message before we get back to the game. _

"_We're gonna be late for school!" he bellows and I let out a knowing groan, turning back to the still frozen orange orb, hovering just above the net. I wave goodbye, knowing that it will never drop. _

-x-

_-x-  
_

There was a loud bang and I shot up in bed, just in time to see Troy and Chad come tumbling into my room through the French doors that lead out onto my balcony. The weight of Chad's backpack caused him to tip over and I couldn't help the chuckle that escaped my lips as his head came in contact with one of my bed posts. I looked up at Troy and we both grinned, exploding with laughter. Chad glared at us and readjusted his backpack, raising a hand to his throbbing head.

"That's not funny," he snapped. Troy and I exchanged glances again.

"Yeah it is," he chuckled, winking at me. I rolled my eyes as I threw the bed covers off my body and stood up. My too-tight tank top contrasted very well with the oversized basketball shorts I borrowed from Jason about three years ago. Although, it kind of freaked me out that from the waist up I looked like the girls at school. That was _not_ my ideal image. Pulling the hair tie out of my insanely knotted hair, I turned back to Troy and Chad and saw them sitting down on my bed, already making themselves comfortable. Typical.

"What time is it?" I asked, shaking out my brown curls. I really needed a haircut. Chad shrugged and Troy bent down to look at my alarm clock. He tilted it up, trying to read the digital numbers.

"Six thirty," he answered calmly. I couldn't help but roll my eyes. It's unnatural that he's so _awake_ this early. He's like the iron man; he never sleeps, is always on the move, and is never tired. And who were they kidding? I never take that long to get ready. We're not going to be late to school. I entered the bathroom and looked at my tired reflection in the mirror before squirting toothpaste on my toothbrush and jamming the plastic into my mouth. I heard my mattress squeaking and their voices rising as I brushed my teeth. Stupid boys being stupid on my mattress probably trying to decide something stupid and a stupidly early time. Returning to my room, I found Chad and Troy arguing heatedly about whose lay-up was better yesterday.

"Guys," I snapped, my mouth overflowing with toothpaste foam. "Can you please shut up? My mom's still sleeping. And by the way, my lay-up is the best, and you all know it," I squeezed in before I snapped my mouth shut and returned to the bathroom, emptying my mouth of foam into the sink. They followed me into the bathroom like they always did just to bug me, Troy just inside the door, Chad leaning on the door frame. Troy poked my upper arm and then crossed his arms over his chest.

"Yeah, right Montez," Troy sneered jokingly, "Like you could ever come _close _to matching our skills on the court." I glared back playfully.

"Who won yesterday?" I reminded him and he flushed, shifting, "Hmm?" He knows he lost pitifully. He knows that I kicked his butt and that I'm awesome. He knows that he'd better admit it.

"You did," he muttered unhappily. "But I let you score a few easy points." I placed my hands on my hips and grinned as he shrunk back. "Okay…okay…" he mumbled. "You beat me fair and square." I turned back to the mirror and rinsed my mouth out, placing my tooth brush back in the cabinet. I turned back to them, giving them a look which they don't understand, for some reason. It's not that hard to get. It's the morning. The first things people do are brush their teeth and go to the bathroom. If we go down the checklist, what's next? I gently pushed Troy out the door, pushing Chad in the process.

"I don't know if you know this," I said. "But people like to go to the bathroom by themselves." Chad stuck his tongue out at me. He's clearly the most mature of all of my friends. I mean…clearly.

"We know," he retorted. "But we were too lazy to move." I rolled my eyes, something I seemed to be doing a lot that morning, and returned to the bathroom. When I came out again, they were sitting at my computer, chatting with one of their friends online.

"What are you doing?" I whispered, afraid of waking my mother. She's always been a little wary of Troy…and Chad…and Jason…and Zeke. She had never been too keen on the idea of me having only male friends. She would worry about me. A lot. Too much. She was overprotective. Strike that, she was crazy-psycho-robo-freak-protective. For some reason, it was like she was convinced that when she was out, the four of them were going hog-tie me, steal a car, drive out of town, and throw me in a river. When I was twelve and she realized that I was perfectly content with Troy, Chad, Jason, and Zeke as my only close friends, she had given me 'the talk.' Apparently, she wanted me to know what I was getting in to.

"Calm down," Chad teased. "We won't wake your _mommy_." I glared at him before returning to the bathroom with my clothes. He's so evil. But, remembering the barbeque sauce thing, I forgave him. When I came back out, they'd turned my computer off and were rifling through my dresser drawers. I threw my pajamas on the ground and stalked over to them angrily. There are certain rules to follow when in a girls' room:

1) Don't make enough noise that her mother comes in and questions why you're in there. You don't want to be the guy answering that question at six forty-five in the morning. The situation cannot possibly end well.

2) Don't read her diary, even if it happens to by lying open to a specific page, "begging" to be read. If you do glance at it and your name is mentioned, run to the opposite side of the room and DO NOT mention what you have read to anyone except your imaginary rabbit Clarence.

3) Don't read anything on her computer without permission, even if it happens to be open and unattended to. See Rule Number 2 for further explanation.

4) Don't touch her stuff. Period. The End. No arguments. There is no reason for you to be touching her stuff. So don't do it.

5) Don't rifle through her dresser. See Rule Number 4 for further explanation.

"Hey," Troy said suddenly, holding up a pair of my underwear. "Do girls really wear these? They're so…small." I snatched them back from him and threw them into the drawer. Thanks for breaking rules four and five!

"And what about this?" Chad said, holding up one of my bras. Why are they so obsessed with my undergarments? I cannot be the only one who finds that to be really weird. "Do you honestly expect us to believe that you can fill this out?" I glared at him and grabbed it from his hand as Troy shoved his arm, snarling at him to 'be nice.' It's kind of amusing how father-like Troy acts sometimes. And did I forget, by any chance, to mention that although we love each other like crazy, we (mainly Chad) like to hide it behind cruel jokes?

"You could, with all _that _blubber," I snapped, slapping at his chest. Troy snorted and Chad glared at me.

"Shut up."

He picked the wrong teenager to mess with at six fifty in the morning.

-x-

-x-

"Want a Pop-Tart?" I offered, holding out the box. Chad reached in and pulled out two. I waited for him to hand one to Troy. He didn't. He tore the wrapping off the first one and then proceeded to drop it on the floor. How he manages to keep a basketball in his hands is becoming a larger and larger mystery. I rolled my eyes, tossing a Pop-Tart to Troy myself. He nodded in thanks before tearing open the wrapper and taking a bite. I bit into my own, watching Chad open his second – dubbed 'backup' – and shove half of the entire thing in his mouth. He looked at me hopefully and I sighed, retrieving three glasses from the cabinet. Filling them, I slid one to Chad and one to Troy and kept one for myself. Chad gulped down the glass's contents, letting out a large belch. At that point, it still disgusted me, but I knew better than to argue back. That would only result in another one.

"Dude," Troy scolded. "That's nasty." And there goes the fatherly tone again.

"Thanks," Chad burped at me. The irony in that sentence is overwhelming. He used his manners, while burping in my direction. That is so amazingly Chad-like.

"No problem," I yawned. "You always need milk with your Pop-Tart. It's a well known _Chad Fact_. I bet I could write a book about you. You also need Mr. Ivory before you go to bed." Momentarily, I had forgotten that I 'wasn't allowed' to mention Chad's stuffed elephant aloud anymore. Ever since "the ladies" started "wanting" him for his "hot bod," anything from childhood was banished from discussion. Troy and I had a tendency to ignore that rule. And anyway, I always argue that the rule only applies to things you haven't taken to bed with you recently (yesterday) and snuggled with.

"Come on," Troy urged suddenly as he checked the time on the wall clock. "We still have to pick up Jason and Zeke." I picked my bag up off the floor and put the dirty glasses in the sink. Chad raised his hand to his forehead in a salute and leapt out of the chair at my kitchen counter.

"Yes sir!" he shouted. "Left. Left. Left, right, left." Troy rolled his eyes and gave Chad's back a hard shove, moving him towards the doors. I laughed and rolled my eyes, following them out to my backyard and through the gate which led into Troy's backyard. We went around the side of his garage and moved towards the curb. I spotted two figures hovering near Troy's car and grinned, running at Jason and tackling him to the ground.

"Brie!" he complained, trying to stand up. "That's not fair. It's early and I wasn't ready."

"What'cha doing here? Don't we usually pick you up at your own house?" I asked, grinning down at him.

"We got tired of waiting for you," he shrugged. I stood up and offered him a hand. He took it, pulling himself into a standing position but he then took the opportunity to throw me on the ground. The automatic lock beeped on the car and I heard some of the doors opening, feeling the breeze as one narrowly missed my head.

"Hey!" I said as I struggled to stand; Jason had taken the liberty of placing his foot on my stomach. Zeke poked his head out of the car and laughed at me. "Shut up," I snapped, slapping Jason's leg. He didn't remove it. The car started suddenly and I saw Chad in the front seat.

"Cadets!" he screamed, still role-playing from earlier. "In the vehicle _now_." Zeke rolled his eyes and pulled his head back into the car. Jason chuckled and opened the door, narrowly missing my head once again. He hopped into the passenger seat and slammed the door shut. Troy grabbed my hand and pulled me up before opening the backseat door. He waited until I had dusted off my back and slid inside before sliding inside himself and shutting the door.

Chad always drove in the morning, even though it was Troy's car. When Troy first got a car, Chad was acting all upset and depressed and jealous and bitter and it had to stop. So, it was agreed that Troy would drive us home after school and Chad would drive us to school in the morning. But that caused problems. Troy had promised me that I would get to ride shotgun. Chad hadn't, and Chad sticks to his words. Or, his not-words. So, in the morning, Troy and Zeke and I all squish into the back. But on the ride home, Troy drives, I ride shotgun, and Zeke, Chad, and Jason squish in the back. In order to be a peace-keeper, Zeke agreed to remain in the back all the time.

"Alright," Troy muttered. "Let's go Chad." Chad pulled away from the curb and Jason reached over to the radio dials. I struggled, finding myself and my bag squished between Zeke and his backpack and Troy and his backpack, and wiggled around. Troy grabbed his bag off the seat and shoved it on the floor, trying to create more space.

"Thanks," I murmured as I slid closer to him, trying to get away from the binder in Zeke's backpack that was poking rather viciously at my side. However, this only caused Troy's elbow to be driven into my side. I squirmed again, and then I grabbed his arm and slung it around my shoulders, relieving the pain in my stomach. I met Chad's gaze in the rearview mirror and he raised an eyebrow. I glared at him. They, being Chad and Jason and Zeke, liked to tease me relentlessly. Just because I got stuck in a closet with him _once _during a stupid game of _Seven Minutes in Heaven, _suddenly, I was in love with Troy.

Which I wasn't.

I don't know why that one game was such a big deal. I mean, I've kissed all of them before; it's not like Troy was the only one. For some reason, the stupid airhead girls at school thought it would be 'amusing' to dare me to kiss them (Jason), or to rig _Spin the Bottle _(Chad), or to shove us into each other violently (Zeke). My best guess is that they were trying to make me uncomfortable around them. It didn't work well.

"Hey, Brie," Zeke said suddenly as he began rifling through his backpack. "What'cha got for lunch today?" I shrugged my shoulders and reached into my lunch bag, pulling out a sandwich. I'd grabbed whatever my mother had been kind enough to make for me the night before. I honestly had no clue what it was. Holding it up, I wrinkled my nose as the squished appearance of the bread, and what appeared to be mayonnaise leaking out of the side.

"Um…I _think_ it's supposed to be turkey." He reached into his own brown bag and pulled out a Tupperware container.

"Want to switch?" he offered. "I had this last night. It was good, but I had too much last night, and now it's just…blech."

"Sure, why not? Turkey's never been my favorite anyway. What is this anyway?" I asked, peeking into the container. He took my sandwich quickly and stuffed it into his bag, hiding it away from me.

"Meatloaf," he answered and I groaned, turning to Troy. He shook his head at me and grinned.

"Yes, I will ask my dad if you can use the microwave in the teacher's lounge to heat up the meatloaf Zeke just swindled you into trading for," he sighed. I grinned at him and settled back against his side. Reaching into his backpack, Zeke pulled out a CD and tossed it to Troy.

"Thanks for the loner, man," he said. Troy nodded, slipping the CD into his backpack. Jason turned the volume up on the radio, blasting whatever song he was addicted to this week. I was assuming that the high pitched squealing was supposed to be singing, but any possible lyrics were indecipherable.

"Jase!" Chad yelled as he slammed on the brakes at a stop sign. Troy mumbled something about 'brakes' and 'money' and 'indentured servitude.' "Turn it down! How can I even attempt to concentrate on the road with _that crap _blasting in my ears?" Jason punched Chad's arm and turned the volume down.

"It's not crap. It happens to be quality music," Jason argued back. Troy rolled his eyes and kicked the back of Jason's seat.

"It's crap, man. Now turn it down. If Chad crashes my car because of your shitty music, it'll be on your head. And his." Jason crossed his arms and sat back in his seat. For some reason, very few people argue with Troy. I'm an exception. (I seem to be the exception a lot of the time…) I love to make him squirm. For instance, just last week we got in a huge argument about the word 'worse.' He insisted that you could say it about reduced-fat cheese doodles without implying that the regular cheese doodles were bad. I said that worse would imply that the original was already bad. We were fighting for hours. And then we decided to buy the sour-cream-and-onion chips next time. Problem solved.

Chad pulled into the East High parking lot and I let out a scream as he narrowly missed a blue Toyota.

"Chad," Troy growled. "If you scratch my car, I swear…" Zeke snorted into his fist and Jason grinned. I looked up at Troy.

"Hey, what happened to Mr. Happy-Go-Lucky? You weren't this grumpy this morning!" He shut his eyes and leaned back against the headrest.

"Sleep deprivation with slow reaction time," he mumbled. I laughed at him; he said weird things in the morning. Chad found his usual parking spot and slammed on the brakes, again, narrowly avoiding hitting the cement block.

"Chad!" we screamed. He shrugged his shoulders as he turned off the engine and tossed the keys to Troy. Troy shoved them into his pocket, glaring at Chad who jumped out of the car. We all followed, and moments later the people swarmed. The sports teams and their lackeys (a.k.a. cheerleaders) crowded around.

They ignored me (as usual) and dove into "deep" conversation with the guys (also as usual). Chad's arm snaked around my shoulder and pulled me closer to his body. A girl, Chelsea Duncork (Dumb-cork: co-captain of the cheerleading squad), glared at me and I couldn't help smirking at her. She's jealous of me. Just wait until Chad gets a real girlfriend.

"We'll talk later," I heard Troy say. Immediately, the crowd dispersed. As I said, people don't like to argue with him. However, a few of the bolder girls remained to wish Troy a happy school day. Yeah. Like a day at East High could actually be happy from homeroom to the last bell. We headed towards the front door, but Chad stopped off to help Stacy Tompkins (the new-ish girl) pick up her books, which she'd only dropped because he tripped into her. He caught up with us as the stairs, grinning like an idiot.

"Someone was flirting with Sexy-Stacy," Zeke teased and Chad shoved his shoulder. But we could all see that his cheeks were slightly redder than normal.

"Shut up," he growled. It was rare for Chad to show this much emotion – he considered it made him seem less masculine. And so, I had to mock.

"Chad's got a crush on Miss Tompkins," I joked, patting his head. He shoved my arm hard and sent me flying into Jason.

"Hey!" we yelped in unison. I rubbed my arm, wincing. Chad smiled, patting his hair back into place. Word to the wise; don't mess with the 'fro. No exceptions. Not even me. I giggled and asked about his afro pick, hushing myself when he glared at me. I grabbed Troy's bag off his shoulder and tossed it to Zeke, who caught it, laughing. Troy raised an eyebrow at me.

"Are we really going to play this game again, Montez? You know I always win," he bragged, the smile on his face growing by the second. I rolled my eyes smirked at him and he lunged forward, slamming me against the front door. I squealed and struggled against him, but he had me. It was a sad day; usually I got farther than two feet before he caught me.

"Give?" he asked as his hands traveled down to my sides and his forehead came to rest against mine. I shook my head and his fingers attacked my stomach. I bust out laughing and started flailing as he tickled me relentlessly. "Give?" he demanded again, laughing himself.

"G-gi…giv…give!" I finally managed to shout through my gasps. He grinned and stepped away from me.

"Told you, Montez; I always win." I stuck my tongue out at him. He held out his hand to Zeke, asking for his backpack, but I jumped onto his back as Jason yanked opened the front doors of hell. Oh – did I say that? I meant East High. Zeke chuckled and Chad rolled his eyes.

"Aww," I cooed at him. "Are you jealous? Did you want to sit on Troy's back?" Chad stuck his tongue out at me and poked my stomach. I giggled again, suddenly becoming aware of how incredibly girly I was acting. Entering the cool building, I sighed. Inhaling deeply, I hit Troy's shoulder blades.

"Have you been stealing my shampoo?" I demanded. "Your hair smells like peaches!" My mother is the only woman on the planet who would buy peach shampoo in bulk because it was on sale. Troy tried to turn around to look at me, but only managed to make us both very dizzy.

"Um…first of all…I have my own shampoo. Second of all; why are you trying to smell my hair? And third of all…I think your mom gave my mom some because she 'bought in bulk.'" I blushed slightly but brushed off any embarrassment.

"Well how was I supposed to know that my mother gave some of the shampoo to you? And I really can't help but smell it. My nose is level with it and it's a necessity to breath." He chuckled and jumped, causing me to scream and grip his shoulders tighter. Three girls who were passing flipped me off and Jason had to grab Chad's collar to stop him from jumping them. I smiled and gently kicked Chad's backpack. (But only because it was blocking his butt.)

"Ooh, bitch spotting!" I called out. The guys laughed into their hands as Sharpay Evans (the resident '_Ice Bitch_') brushed by, closely followed by her twin brother Ryan (regrettably dubbed 'gay' because Sharpay has him coordinate their outfits and her favorite color is pink). Sharpay stalked past us, glaring daggers at me, and I grinned when I saw Ryan trying to hide his smile. See how awful she was? Even her own brother couldn't stand her!

"Should we?" I asked aloud to the guys. They turned to me, smirking.

"It is a Monday…" Troy said, jostling me again. Zeke and Jason exchanged high fives and Chad gave a passing freshman a _Wet-Willie. _I scolded him with another sharp kick to the rear area.

We followed _Ice Bitch _and Ryan down the hallway at a safe distance, and paused when she threw open her locker, waiting for her to send her brother away like she always did. When Ryan left, Troy set me on the ground and winked at me, swaggering off in her direction. When I saw the classic _Giggle-Throw Hair over Shoulder-Touch Arm_ I knew I was safe; she was in full flirt mode. She would never know. Well, not until she went looking for whatever I happened to snag. Slinking over to her, I crouched down behind her back and peered into her locker.

Troy and I did this every Monday. I took great satisfaction in knowing that it must have driven her crazy. He would flirt with her on Monday, and then ignore her Tuesday through Sunday. And something would mysteriously disappear from her locker every Monday. I don't understand how she couldn't make the connection.

Reaching inside her locker, I plucked her overly flamboyant pink, feathered, fuzzy, '_Princess_' pen from inside her bag. Smirking, I glanced up at Troy and flashed him a thumbs up. His smile widened and he nodded slightly. Just as I was about to run back to Chad, Jason, and Zeke, I caught a bit of their conversation.

"…so I wanted to apologize on her behalf. She's sorry." I could practically hear Sharpay rolling her eyes.

"Yeah, I bet she's really sorry," she snapped sarcastically. "Honestly, I don't understand how you can put up with her. She's such a bi-otch." I almost laughed out loud and I saw Troy's jaw clench. (He doesn't particularly care for people who rag on his best friends.) Who would call someone's best friend a bitch to their face? Especially when you're trying to hit on the guy! God…she was such an idiot.

Sneaking back down the hallway, I held the pen out.

"My best lift to date," I said proudly. Jason's eyes bulged.

"Holy crap, Elle!" he yelped. "How'd you get that? I thought she kept it in a bullet-proof safe or something! That's, like, her most prized possession." I shrugged.

"It was out in the open." Zeke reached out and took the pen, biting his lip. He'd always had a thing for _Ice Bitch_. I don't know why. Out of all the 'great' girls at our school, he had to pick _her_.

"I don't know if I can do this anymore," Troy said, suddenly appearing behind me. "She's insane." I grinned and snatched the pen back from Zeke, showing it to Troy. He raised an eyebrow, slowly bringing a hand up to take it.

"Holy. Shit," he chuckled. "She's going to have a heart attack!" We laughed, knowing that she loved that pen. Troy began to brush the feathers against the back of my neck. Now, I don't know how many of you have ever had the tip of a feather brushed against the back of your neck, but it tickles. A lot. I twitched, softly elbowing his stomach. He continued to tickle my neck before quickly stuffing the pen inside Jason's pocket. Sharpay passed by looking frantic.

"Where is it?" we heard her scream. "Someone's head's going to roll!" I broke down into peals of laughter, falling back against Troy for support. Chad was holding Zeke's shoulder, trying to support himself, and Jason was rubbing his leg.

"Thanks a lot, Troy! You stabbed me in the freaking leg!" Troy grimaced through his chuckles.

"S-sorry, man," he managed, bending over slightly. The bell suddenly rang and we all let out a curse, running for our lockers. Troy's was right beside mine somehow, and he took joy in slamming my locker shut just as soon as I got it open. And he did just that. I groaned, spinning the dial as fast as I could. Grabbing my textbook and binder, I rushed away towards homeroom. I felt something slap lightly against my rear and turned to glare at Troy.

"Do that again and I'll insure that you don't have any biological children," I snarled. I was not in the mood for his sexually fueled humor. He wiggled his eyebrows at me.

"You sure you'd be able to handle seeing it, much less going anywhere near it?" My eyes doubled in size and I slapped his arm hard. If he weren't such an awesome friend, I'd have strangled him for being a massive pervert years ago.

"You're right; I might need a microscope," I fired back. Quite proud of my snappy comeback, I continued walking, a slight smirk on my face. Suddenly noticing that he wasn't next to me, I turned around. He'd stopped cold and I panicked slightly. That was never good.

"You are dead meat." I screamed and ran down the nearly-empty hallway. He followed closely, finally catching me and pinning me up against the wall. Right outside homeroom.

"Damn," I whispered. "I was so close." He was staring into my eyes and I shrunk back.

"A _microscope_?" he demanded. I shrugged helplessly; there were no words to say.

"Mr. Bolton! Miss Montez!" someone screamed. We froze, staring at each other before turning to face Ms. Darbus (the overly-dramatic drama teacher – funny, isn't it?). "There will be no Public Displays of Affection anywhere near my class room!" That was my W-T-F moment for the day. Public Display of Affection with Troy? Ha. Yeah right. It figures that I would get nabbed for something like that – something I didn't actually do – but I've never gotten caught for stealing from Sharpay

"Ms. Darbus…we…we weren't…I swear!" She glared at me.

"Don't use that tone with me, Miss Montez. I am under the impression that my eyes work fine, aren't you?" There was no point in arguing with her now. We were getting in trouble either way. So, we just nodded together. "So I was correct then. There will be detention for both of you today and tomorrow." She entered the classroom and Troy finally unpinned me.

"Two days of detention for something her bat eyes didn't even see correctly?" I asked, amazed at my incredibly sucky luck.

"This is your fault," Troy said, poking my side. I gaped at him. My fault. My fault? How on Earth could he come to the conclusion of this being my fault? He was the one who got all offended! It was a joke! A little joke about a little thing! (Oh, burn! Get it? Little joke…little _thing_? Montez: 1. Bolton: 0.)

"Excuse me?" I asked, following him inside. "If you didn't have a weird obsession with slamming me into walls as a sick means of torture or revenge, we wouldn't have gotten in trouble." He whirled on me.

"Well, if you would quit insulting the essence of my masculinity, maybe I wouldn't find it necessary to find means of revenge!" He lowered his voice and stepped closer to me. "I would like to inform you that even someone who's almost blind could see it." I couldn't hold in my laughter. I don't think he realized how utterly stupid he sounded at the time. (He was merely trying to defend the "essence of his masculinity," so don't be too hard on the poor boy.)

"It's that big?" I teased. "How do you buy underwe-" He slapped a hand over my mouth and his eyes flashed. But there was a smile on his lips. (And we return to the normal, not quite as perverted Troy we all know and love.)

"Shut up," he murmured, taking a seat beside me in the back. I sighed at him. Yes, I felt guilty for questioning the "essence of his masculinity" and so I had to. I turned to him and lightly kicked my shoe against his. I waited for him to look my way before mouthing 'I'm sorry.' He smiled at me, reaching over and gently pushing my shoulder.

"Montez, Bolton, you will be meeting with me twice this week. However, due to some unfortunate circumstances beyond my control, we will meet tomorrow and Wednesday, not today." Troy jumped at the sound of the drama teacher's voice and my cheeks flushed as the class snickered. I mean, as if it's not bad enough that the drama teacher nabbed me for a fake public display of affection with my best friend, but the entire class is laughing at me because they could obviously hear her (she's got a voice that's hard to block out) and _I can't stop my damn cheeks from blushing_.

I saw Troy raise his hand.

No.

Bad.

Put your hand down, you big, big, moron.

"I think this is incredibly unfair," he declared loudly. Here we go; hello, third day of detention. "I'm getting two days of detention for a public display of affection, and I didn't even get any affection." I turned to glare at him, as did the teacher.

"Quiet, Mr. Bolton. However, you may continue, of course, if you would care to add another day to your servitude in the chapel of the arts." He shook his head, slouching in his seat, and threw me a quick grin. I shook my head at him and his grin widened. Suddenly, a note landed on my desk labeled _To Troy_. I ignored this (played dumb) and opened it. And then I snorted.

_I'll give you affection…_

_368-9941_

_Kristi_

I don't know if she was going for romantic or mysterious or what, but all I got was "slut." I refolded the note and then tossed it to Troy and watched as he raised an eyebrow, unfolding the paper. Suddenly, his eyes narrowed, and his eyes flew over the paper again. He looked at me. I was still wracked with silent peals of laughter. He held up the paper, asking if she was serious. This sent me into hysterics again. He continued mouthing things at me and I couldn't stop laughing. I knew it was going to be a long day; he was in my next three classes, my lunch period, and the last three of the day. There were only two classes of mine he wasn't in.

Troy was in a majority of my classes; seven in total. History, gym, Spanish, lunch (Okay, not really a class…but I'm over it), science, English and art. I was usually quite giggly in all those classes. He was amazing in English. Like, seriously amazing. I don't know where it comes from, but that boy can write. The only classes we didn't share were health, and math.

Chad was in five of my classes; history, Spanish, health, lunch (once again…not a class), and art. God…can you imagine Chad in health? It's horrible. And art…at the end of the day, he and Troy go _insane_. Almost literally. I don't think an art class had gone by where I hadn't been kicked out for laughing 'obnoxiously' loud.

Zeke was in four of my classes, one of them being lunch. He was in gym, health and science. He was actually quite talented in chemistry. I made sure that I was always lab partners with him and Troy.

Jason was in four of my classes as well, one of them being lunch. He was in history, gym and math. I had been incredibly surprised when I walked into my math classroom and saw him sitting in the back. None of my guys had ever been on the same math level as me. But Jason had been sitting in the classroom. It turned out that he had been hiding his mathematics skills as best as he could. And he did really well; he was the dumber-than-a-doornail kid. (I know. We were all surprised. I mean, I even introduced him to you as the stupid one. _Sorry, Jason_.)

I do hope you realize that I don't expect you to remember any of that. None of it. I don't even know why I included it.

I had been tuning out most of Ms. Darbus' lecture as I attempted to calm my laughter, when something caught my attention.

"…and the dance will be one week from Friday." I choked on the very air I was supposed to be breathing. Dance. That is a word I despise, one associated with dresses and shoes and dresses and purses and dresses and music and dresses and dates and dresses and dancing and _dresses._ I really hate dresses. I mean, I really, really, hate dresses. And dates. Blech. The guys at my school are…blech. And I don't dance. I can't dance. And the idea of putting on a dress and picking a date and dancing, all in the same night, is enough to make me want to vomit.

I had not expected this and I was not looking forward to it. In fact, it couldn't have come at a worse time if it had wanted to.

Especially after what had happened last week.

-x-

-x-

**Author's Note: **There is only one reason why this chapter was uploaded so quickly after my other posting. It was already written when I put up the prologue. I will not be able to update right away all the time, simply because I barely have time to write during the week. The weekends are my primary writing time, so the week will most likely be when I'm revising the written work and posting. I feel guilty about my erratic updates, but I hope this 10-page entry will hold you over until I'm ready to update again.

I would also like to thank those who reviewed the prologue. You were extremely inspiring and I appreciate your encouraging words. Hopefully, the rest of the story will live up to your expectations! It would be greatly appreciated if you left a review with comments or questions or criticism. I'm very interested in what you think and how you feel about my writing!


	3. The List

-**CHAPTER TWO****-**

**-Monday-**

-**The List (Untouchables)-**

_I'm sorry. I kind of left you hanging last time, didn't I? That was mean of me. But, hey, cut me some slack. We all know who I get it from – cough _Chad _cough. (See, Chad? You got a shout out, too. As if it's not bad enough that the entire story is going to have you in it, I need to mention your name again, huh?) I know that you're all probably wondering what happened last week, and I will be more than pleased to tell you. Well, not more than pleased. The whole idea of remembering what went on and what happened to me and all the – You know, I'll just tell you. _

-flashback-

"_What the hell is this about?" Troy demanded as he slammed a piece of paper down on the lunch table. I looked up at him, as did Chad, Zeke, and Jason. He'd been missing from the cafeteria for a few minutes, and had just come storming in, fury etched into his face. _

"_What are you talking about?" I asked, reaching for the paper. He moved it out of my reach and handed it to Chad, who snickered once he began to read it. When he approached the end, however, his fists clenched and he and Troy shared similar facial expressions. After it had been passed to Zeke and Jason, I was permitted to see it. Not to say, that is, that I couldn't have seen it sooner if I wanted to. I was just being nice and I waited. _

_I unfolded the paper, which Zeke had refolded for some reason. It was a printed out e-mail. And from the huge paragraph dictating every person it had been forwarded to, almost half the school had gotten a copy of it. _

_-_x-

East High Seniors Proudly Present:

East High School's High Security Girls

or simply

The Untouchables

-x-

"_What is this?" I asked, rereading it, "High security girls, Untouchables?" _

_Troy humored me. "They mean girls who can't be touched." I was still confused. "You know…" he urged, "Girls who are protected, or…uh…invulnerable. Girls that have people who look after them, or who look after themselves really well... Untouchables." I nodded slowly, beginning to skim the list. _

"_They're the girls you want," Chad filled in, "But just can't get."_

-x-

5. Taylor McKessie:She's tough _and_ she's a nerd. But she's got an incredible ass, and so she qualifies for a position.

4. Sharpay Evans: Honestly, she'd snap your head off before you got a chance to hit on her. But she's got a _killer _rack.

3. Jennifer Yankers: Her brother would kill you before you said, "hey." Seriously; you don't mess with the Yankers family, no matter how hot they are.

2. Marti Jordan: She's fine beyond reason. At least, her boyfriend seems to think so.

And our Number One _Untouchable _is…

1. Gabriella Montez: Something about this brunette has the freshmen guys going wild. But it stops with the freshmen, or at least it should. Because once you've been here a year, you realize: You are absolutely crazy if you think you'll get anywhere near her. She's a part of the "Fab Five" and the other four members are all guys, the Montez Men. Their fists will be in your mouth before you know what's going on. Don't go near her if you want to stay _**ALIVE**_.

-x-

_I dropped the paper and my mouth fell open. Don't go near me if you want to stay alive? What am I, some fatal disease? I looked up at Troy, my mouth set in a grim line. _

"_What the hell is this?" I screeched. "Who wrote this?" I demanded, even though I already had a pretty good idea of who it was. Troy pointed out the cafeteria door wordlessly at the passing senior quarterback. Of course. My eyes narrowed as I jumped up and stormed out the door after this. _

"_Briton," I snarled, stalking towards him. He stopped and turned around, smirking at me. God, I'd seen that smirk too many times. I don't know what I did to catch his attention, but Briton seemed to have some sort of issue with me. He liked to piss me off. He found joy in my anger. Sadistic bastard…_

"_Montez," he said coolly as he ran a hand through his short jet-black hair, his green eyes flashing. He took a small step in my direction. _

"_What the fuck is this?" I asked, holding up the paper. He grinned, knowing exactly what was on the paper clutched in my fist. Sadistic bastard… Oh, have I mentioned that already?_

"_I thought I should warn the freshmen," he said nonchalantly, slinging his sports bag over his right shoulder. "It's not fair that they should have to get beaten up by your boys just because they didn't know that you were an Untouchable." I glared at him._

"_You told people to stay away from me! You basically compared my to some disease that would take you out within a moment of contact!" I snarled at him. Just because all of the guys at school were jerks didn't mean that I wanted them to keep away from me. I wanted some sort of acknowledgement. I wanted to see that someone thought I was attractive. Even if I didn't return the feeling. A girl needs a little confidence boost every now and then, doesn't she? Damn…girly moment._

_Briton shrugged his shoulders. "I like it when things are calm," he said, stepping forward again. I shifted slightly. He was quite a bit taller than I was. "I don't like chaos. This is my last year at East High, Montez. I would prefer if I didn't have to spend it on damage control. The less guys that approach you, the fewer men your boys have to pound on. End of story." He took another step forward and leaned down towards my ear. _

"_Although…" he murmured, "I doubt they would dare touch me." I felt his hand on my hip and his lips grazed my ear. I stepped back, making sure to scrape my nails against the back of his hand as I shoved it off of me. _

"_Rethink that," someone growled from behind me. Briton looked up slowly, smirking at the person – people, rather, behind me. _

"_Ah…what have we here? The Montez Men." Troy's jaw was clenched as he stepped forward again. For some reason, Briton called my guys the Montez Men. He seemed to be the only person in the school who thought I was the center of the group. The rest of the school said we all followed Troy. (For all I knew, Chad could have been fighting a lamb-chop for the position of 'leader.')_

_Chad's hands were curled into fists and Zeke and Jason were cracking their knuckles; they were attempting to be intimidating and the gesture was sweet, but I couldn't help rolling my eyes at them. It's not like the entire senior section of the football team, which had mysteriously materialized behind Briton, was going to care if two juniors were cracking their knuckles. Suddenly, I felt Briton's hand creeping up under the hem of my shirt. Let me see…um…no. I slapped his hand away and he grinned at me. Stupid bastard. _

"_Don't worry, Montez," he murmured. "I'll save you from these ladies one day, I promise." I glared at him as he smirked down at me. He bent down and pressed a kiss to my jaw bone. I moved to slap him, but he caught my wrist. _

"_Ah-ah-ah," he said softly. "Violence is never the answer." I used my free hand to flip him off. _

"_Fuck you," I snarled, pulling my arm away from him. He wiggled his eyebrows at me._

"_You will," he retorted. _

-end flashback-

That had actually been a pretty good day in the end. Troy gave Briton a black eye. He's always had a short temper, a big mouth, and a _wicked_ right hook. But the list was going to be a problem now. I had no intention of going to the dance if I had to go alone, but I couldn't let them go without me, because it was more than likely that they would get in trouble, either with girls or with teachers. And so I had to go, which meant that I had to find a _date_. A word that sent shivers down my spine. To try and find a date-worthy guy in hell – I mean East High – would be nearly impossible.

The bell finally rang, signaling that we could now adjourn to our first period classes. I waited for Troy to collect his books before exiting the classroom.

"That sounds exciting," he said sarcastically as he fell into step beside me. "I can't wait until people start-"

"Hey Troy!" a peppy red-head (Kim Harrison: tennis star) cut him off. "I was wondering if you had a date to the dance yet." My eyes widened slightly, and my eyebrows rose. We just found out about the dance in homeroom. It hadn't even been five minutes since the bell rang. How _could _he have found a date already? I looked at him and almost burst out laughing. He wasn't hiding his discomfort very well.

"I…well I…I don't know if I'm going to go," he tried, hoping she would buy it. Her face fell, but she recovered quickly, plastering a hopeful smile on her face.

"Well, if you decide to go, would you consider me as a possible date?" He nodded at her and she smiled, looking utterly overjoyed. "Awesome," she said softly before rushing past him. Well…she was alright. She wasn't as bad as the normal freaks who hit on him. At least her underwear was well hidden beneath her sweatpants.

"Smooth…" I teased, elbowing him. He rolled his eyes.

"I didn't want to just…shoot her down," he defended. "She was being…normal about it. I felt bad." He was whining and ran a hand through his hair. When we entered the history classroom, I was still laughing at him. He gave my shoulder a gentle shove before taking his normal seat in the back left-hand corner. Jason was in front of him, I was beside him, and Chad was in front of me. We were in our own little corner. I'm not really sure what our teacher was hyped up on when she assigned us our seats.

"Did you hear?" Jason growled, pulling out his textbook. "That stupid dance…" Troy and I exchanged glances and he broke down laughing. Chad twisted to look at him, his eyebrows raised.

"What's he going loopy about?" I let out a small laugh.

"Kim already asked him to go with her," I said softly, trying not to inform the whole classroom.

"What?" Chad screamed. "Already, are you kidding?" I shook my head, watching Troy double over in laughter. "Man, I hate you."

"CHILDREN!" our teacher bellowed. "I WANT ORDER IN MY CLASSROOM." We turned to face her, any conversation dying on our lips.

"Yes, Mr. Carper," we chanted.

-x-

-x-

"Damn it," I breathed, bending over and placing my hands on my knees. I must have landed on my ankle funny because it was throbbing like mad. I was sure it would be fine in a few minutes, but I didn't want to push myself too hard. Someone stopped beside me and I looked up to find Troy standing beside me, panting.

"You alright?" he breathed, his hands resting on the waist of his shorts. He always had been there when you needed him. Mr. Golap (gym teacher) shouted at us to keep running, but Troy held up a hand. "Hold…on," he shouted back. "Something's…wrong." The coach asked if I wanted to go to the nurse and I nodded, clutching onto Troy's shoulder dramatically. Since when was milking a little injury to get out of gym a really bad thing?

"My ankle is throbbing." Troy put his arm around my shoulders, steadying me as I tipped to one side.

"Come on," he said, moving away from the track and towards the gym. "We need to get that an ice pack or something," he mumbled, noticing my swollen ankle.

"It started hurting on the fourth lap. I don't really know what happened. But it's not a big deal. Get me out of site and then I'll walk." Zeke appeared on my other side, helping Troy support my weight. I started protesting, but they ignored me. There was no way it could have ended well.

"This…isn't…working…" Troy grunted. Quickly, he and Zeke wrapped my arms around their necks and grabbed my legs, carrying me into the gym.

"Guys!" I moaned. "I feel like that pregnant woman from the second _Cheaper by the Dozen_!" They laughed at me, leaving the gym and entering the hallway. "Seriously!" I whined. "This is embarrassing! Just let me walk; I'm fine!" They stopped and glanced at each other, grinning.

"I think we should run down the hallway screaming, 'The baby's coming.'" My eyes widened and I shook my head frantically. That's just what I need; every guy in the school thinking that – not only am I someone dangerous to approach, but – I'm a mental patient.

"Just get me to the nurse's office, jackasses." They grinned at me and continued down the hallway. Entering the office, they gently set me down on the bed (if that bright orange plastic thing can be considered a bed). The nurse took a look at my foot and told me that I just twisted it in a bad direction. Apparently, it would "be better by tomorrow if all the weight was kept off of it." She gave me a bag of ice, and then shooed us out. Standing outside the door, trying to balance my weight on one foot, I looked at Zeke and Troy helplessly. I don't know if I've mentioned this, but I'm probably one of the more klutzy people in the world.

"Help me!" I whined. "I can't hop around all day. I want this to be better by tomorrow, and that means I can't put my weight on it. So help me!" The bell rang, signaling that gym was over and that it was time to move on. I groaned; now I was going to be late because I still had to get back to the gym and change out of my gym clothes.

At least Troy was nice enough to carry me to the locker room while Zeke ran to art, although I did have to limp inside myself. Once I had changed, I rushed out, as fast as a lame can, to find Troy standing there with my books, waiting for me.

"I got your books," he said, grinning after stating the obvious. I smiled at him thankfully, reaching to take them from him, but he moved them out of my reach. Stopping a passing kid who looked like a freshman, he handed him the books. "Don't move," he ordered. The kid nodded. Obviously, he had read the list because he looked terrified that Troy was planning on severely injuring him. I giggled softly; Troy wouldn't hurt a fly. Unless, of course, that fly chose to buzz around me too long. Then…BAM…out came the fly swatter. (Nice metaphor, right? That is a metaphor…isn't it?)

"Come on," he motioned towards his back. "Hop on; we have to get to Spanish. If I'm late again I'll get detention, and I already have it twice this week with Darbus." I grinned and he helped me onto his back.

"And whose fault is that?"

"Uh…yours. Duh. If you would just stop insulting my manliness, then I wouldn't have to resort to violence in order to prove that microscopes aren't necessary." Now, how does that make sense? Resorting to violence was not his only option. He could have sat me down and discussed his feelings (I'm funny, aren't I?) and it would have been problem solved. But no-o. He just has to slam me into walls as hard as he can. One day, he is going to crack my head open and I'm going to die and he is going to feel bad. Well, hopefully I won't die, because that would kind of…suck…but I could certainly need a long recovery time, during which he would be forced to be my indentured servant.

Oh, right; the story.

"Where are you going?" Troy asked the kid. The freshman paled and I buried my face in Troy shoulder, trying to hide my grin and giggles. I did feel bad for him, even if I didn't look like it. I mean, I wouldn't want to get stopped in the hallway by the kid who I'd been warned would beat me up if I looked at his best friend the wrong way. So, anyway the kid flipped out and it took Troy four minutes to get a real answer from him. He looked horrified when Troy grinned.

So Troy had him follow us down the hallway, and I was still burying my face in his shoulder in an excruciatingly feeble attempt to hide my laughter. I glanced over my shoulder and the kid was all pale and stumbling and I turned to face the kid and I gave him a small smile. I was just trying to make sure he didn't think that he was about to die, you know?

So I said, "Don't worry; he won't hurt you." He gave me this really, really, really, lame smile and then seemed to catch himself and totally averted his eyes. How rude can you get? Honestly? It's just a stupidly stupid list…made by a stupidly stupid senior…who has succeeded in being stupidly stupid. I rolled my own eyes and faced forward.

"Have I mentioned that I hate Briton?" I muttered in Troy's ear darkly. He chucked softly and I winced as a passing sophomore bumped into my foot. That hurt. I mean, that hurt really bad.

"You've only mentioned it…oh, once or eighty times." I pinched his shoulder. He's so mean to me. Why does he have to be mean to me all the time? And besides, it's not like he and Briton are best friends anyway. They basically hate each other.

"It's all because of the stupid list!" I complained. "I mean, not that I was hoping he would, but the kid won't even look at me. Why did he have to make a list? Why did he have to include me on the list?" I groaned, attempted to rub my forehead. "God, I will be so happy next year. You know why? Because he'll finally be _gone_." Troy gently jostled me around, nodding his head.

"I know what you mean. When he finally leaves, that'll be the best thing that ever happened in this school." He pointed the freshman around the corner and then spun around, sending me into giggles. My nails were digging into his shoulder as he began jumping a few times to scare me. He stopped outside the classroom and I waited for him to set me on the floor, but he followed the shaking freshman inside, telling him where to put my books. The class was staring, I could tell. They're always staring. You'd think that after that many years, they would have gotten used to it by now. But apparently not.

I heard someone calling my name, but it wasn't your normal someone. It was a "Hey Montez!" I turned around and saw Briton standing outside the door. I groaned as Troy set me down, glaring at him. Now, I'm never in the mood to deal with Briton. But today, I would have given anything to be able to just shove him down a flight of stairs.

"What do you want?" I hissed at him. My foot was suddenly throbbing and throwing him down the stairs was becoming a wonderful fantasy. He was just leaning against the doorframe and acting all cocky and _I hate him so freaking much. _He smirked at me.

"Do you have a date for the dance yet?" I felt Troy tense beside me and he turned around slowly. This is bad.

"What is it to you?" he snapped, sitting down on the top of my desk and flipping Briton off. I cast a tired glace at Troy, begging him not to start anything right now. Briton returned the gesture and then wiggled his eyebrows at me.

"You asked what I wanted," he replied, his green eyes dancing. My mouth fell open as I watched him disappear down the hallway, and the classroom erupted into chatter. When Troy and Briton are involved, you can almost guarantee that the student population will be thrown into "chaos" and be gossiping all day long.

"_Did he just ask her to the dance?_" came from one of the girls on my left.

"_Briton's a senior. What would he want with her?_" came from one of the guys in the back.

"_Was the quarterback just hitting on her?_" came from some girl towards the back.

And then my comment. (It's my favorite of the four.)

"What the fuck...?"

-x-

-x-

**Author's Note: **Finally. I know it's been a while, but I just couldn't seem to get this chapter right. I kept trying and trying because I really didn't want to put up something that I hated beyond all reason, because then there would have been a greater chance of the readers hating it too. I kept rewriting and editing and revising and this is what I ended up with. Hopefully, it wasn't a disappointment. If anyone has any questions or comments or concerns, please feel free to voice them. I'll be more than happy to clarify. Unless, of course, it's about something that develops later on in the story. Then you'll just have to wait and see!


	4. The Boy

-**CHAPTER THREE-**

**-Monday-**

-**The Boy (Briton)-**

_At this point in our story, I thought it would be nice if we included someone else's point of view. Someone mentioned that I have a very "bleak outlook on the kids at school." I argued back that it's my story and I write about how I feel. If I think that what's-her-face is a major bitch, I'm going to write that what's-her-face is a major bitch! But then I decided that someone else's perspective might be nice after all. (I was getting a little tired of writing, anyway.) And in this case, someone else is Troy. I asked him (begged him) to remember as much as he could about that day and write it down for me. Then, I read what he wrote so I could correct grammatical errors and I had to make him rewrite it in first person. He'd written it in third person. "Troy scowled." Idiot. _

-Troy's Take-

I don't really understand why I have to write this since it is Brie's project, but since she asked (begged) so nicely, I might as well. So, Gabriella had hurt her ankle during gym. Zeke and I carried her to the nurse's office and stupid Mrs. Kimble wasn't helpful at all. She told Gabriella that it would be fine tomorrow and to keep her weight off it. Then she gave her a melted ice pack and pushed us out the door. I think I saw Janitor Steve hiding in her office. I always knew that the school staff hooked up. But no one believed me. Zeke took off when he heard the bell ring, but I totally understood why. He had art next and the teacher (Mrs. Mose) was totally insane about being on time.

Gabriella was moaning and whining about not being able to walk, so I carried her to the girls' locker room. Once she was inside, I went to our lockers and grabbed our Spanish books. When I got back to the locker room, she was just coming out. I have amazing timing. But it's just because I'm so incredibly fantastic.

"Thanks," she said, reaching to take the book. I held it out of her reach, chuckling softly as she struggled to stabilize herself on one leg. Stopping a passing freshman, I handed him the books. The kid must have been half my height and one quarter of my weight. I told him not to move and then returned my gaze to Gabriella. She was giving me that What's-Going-On look. I grinned.

"Come on," I said, motioning to my back. "Hop on; we have to get to Spanish." She hopped onto my back (with a little help) and I turned back to the freshman.

"Where are you going?" I asked, hoping he was going to the same wing. I didn't want to have to find another kid. He paled and Gabriella buried her face in my shoulder for some reason; I could hear her giggling softly. Luckily, he was going to the same hallway.

"Follow us," I ordered, starting down the hallway. Gabriella was still laughing into my shoulder. She turned around.

"Don't worry," she giggled. "He won't hurt you." I rolled my eyes, turning the corner. If the kid was dumb enough to actually think I was going to punch him because he looked at Brie, he deserved to get punched just for being so dim-witted. Suddenly, Gabriella was facing forward again. "Have I mentioned that I hate Briton?" she snarled at me. I glared at a passing sophomore who bumped into her leg. Hello? As if she's not already in enough pain.

"You've only mentioned it…oh, once or eighty times," I replied and she pinched my shoulder.

"It's all because of the stupid list!" she whined. "I mean, not that I was hoping he would, but the kid wouldn't even look at me. Why did he have to make a list? Why did he have to include me on the list?" I grinned slightly, hoping she couldn't see. Secretly, I was a little glad that Briton made the list. It stopped the idiots at school from hitting on her. Although, I couldn't get this theory out of my head… "God, I will be so happy next year. You know why? Because he'll finally be _gone_."

I shook her around a little. I directed the freshman around another corner. I spun around a few time and she launched into giggles, right as a jumped up and down a few times. She completely freaked, digging her nails into my shoulders. It hurt. It hurt a lot. I paused outside the Spanish classroom, waiting for the freshman to go in, and then I told him where to put our books. The class was staring at us…no, at Gabriella. But, then again, they're always staring.

"Hey Montez!" someone called and I scowled. Great. It's him again. I set Gabriella down slowly and I told the freshman he could go.

"What do you want?" Gabriella asked and Briton smirked. You know what I would really love to do? I would really love to shove him into a garbage can and then roll him down a hill and into traffic.

"Do you have a date for the dance yet?" he asked. Briton was just standing in the doorway, leaning against the doorframe, smirking. Oh, I fucking knew it. I knew it!

"What's it to you?" I cut in, sitting down on the top of Gabriella's desk and flipping him off. Gabriella gave me a weary glance, but I just smiled, thankful that our teacher was mysteriously absent. Briton wiggled his eyebrows at Gabriella and flipped _me_ off.

"You asked what I wanted," he replied before pushing off the doorframe and disappearing into the hallway. Gabriella's mouth fell open. I was right, I knew it, and I called it. Briton only made that fucking list to eliminate his _competition_. He didn't make the damn list so that freshmen would be safe; he made it so that _he _would be the only guy offering to take Gabriella to the dance. Not that I really cared about who Gabriella's date was. I just didn't want her getting hurt. And going anywhere with Briton was like lying down in the middle of the highway with a stick of dynamite strapped to your chest and saying, "Oh, I'll be fine."

The classroom erupted into chatter around me.

"_Did he just ask her to the dance?_"

"_Briton's a senior. What would he want with her?_"

"_Was the quarterback just hitting on her?_"

And then Gabriella spoke up. "What the fuck…"

I looked over at Chad who had materialized by my side, but he appeared to be in shock. I couldn't say that I wasn't also a little shocked. I mean, I had an idea as so what he was doing, but it's just weird to hear it out loud.

"Did he just…" she gulped, "Did he just ask me to go to the dance with him?" I nodded at Gabriella, frowning as a small smile appeared on her lips. See _that_ right there…not working out for me. Yeah, see, she should have been on the verge of vomiting. She should not have this 'O-M-G I JUST FOUND MY TRUE LOVE' look on her face.

"What an ass," I said louder than necessary. Chad nodded and Gabriella started, looking over at me.

"Yeah…" she said slowly. I frowned at her. See, now it's a 'O-M-G HE'S DREAMY' look and that's almost worse.

"You're not seriously considering that, are you?" I demanded. "You'd actually consider accepting a date from Briton Walker? Are you feeling alright? Do you have a fever, or something?" She frowned at me.

"Big Brother much? And no, I wasn't considering going to the dance with Briton. You know how much I hate him. And I'm not a total backstabber either. Do you really think that I would go out with him even if you hated him?" She looked annoyed. I blinked a few times, shaking my head. My brain must have melted during gym.

"Sorry," I muttered, taking my seat. She shrugged.

"Whatever. But it is pretty cool that Briton isn't going to get what he wants. I do love having power." I smiled at her, exchanging high-fives with Chad. In your face, _Briton_.

-x-

-x-

"Come on, Chad, please?" I heard begging. I turned around to see Gabriella pleading with Chad. Hands clasped, pouting lip…the whole package. "I seriously can't walk! Ask Zeke or Troy! I'm really not supposed to walk." He raised an eyebrow. "Come _on_ Chad. It's only four doors down!" He picked up her things.

"I'll carry your books, but I'm not walking through the halls with you on my back."

"Why not?" I asked, butting into the conversation. "I did it." Gabriella nodded and hopped in my direction. She grabbed onto my arm and jerked her head in my direction.

"Yeah; Troy did it." Chad looked at me, scratching his head, and then looked back at Gabriella.

"But he always does that. All the kids pretty much think of you as an accessory on Troy's back anyway. But if they see me doing it, people are going to think I'm a wienie." Gabriella and I exchanged wordless glances as we started at Chad. I don't know who Chad thinks he's kidding at school; he's a total wienie and everyone knows it.

"A wienie?" she asked incredulously. "You're going to abandon your poor disabled female friend here in a classroom just so people – people you don't actually know – won't think you're a wienie?" He nodded and she rolled her eyes, letting out a frustrated sound. I sighed, turning my back to her.

"Hop on," I sighed.

"No," she insisted. "You have to go the other direction. Chad's going to the same classroom. Make him take me. He listens to you; just order him to take me or something." I looked at Chad who was already halfway out the door with her books. Or not.

"Come on," I insisted. "Chad won't carry you. Jason and Zeke and I will. Chad's got this macho thing going on today." She sighed and wrapped her arms around my shoulders and I grabbed her legs. "Did I tell you what happened this morning? Chad was trying to add more ego to himself." he asked, heading down the hallway.

"Nope," she said. "I have not heard this story." I chuckled softly.

"He came to my house this morning, just like everyday. But he walks into the kitchen while I'm grabbing my bottle for practice, and he goes, 'Do you really have to drink Gatorade? Can't you drink water like a normal guy? You're such a girl.' And I was like, 'You were drinking the purple one yesterday. Doesn't that mean that you're a girl too?' And then he starts ranting on about how he just bought extra large sized condoms yesterday, totally oblivious to the fact that my mother was eating breakfast in the dining room."

"Wait," she said, "The dining room that is connected to the kitchen?" I nodded.

"We've only got one." She busted out laughing.

"Oh, now that is what I call funny." Her laughter was rather contagious and I started chuckling at her. "How did your mom respond to finding out about Chad's high sexual activeness?" I snorted.

"Not well. About as well as she responded to Fondue Night."

"Ouch," she giggled. "That was pretty scary. I really don't understand why she got all bent out of shape. I mean, yes, we covered the living room in cheese. But it's not like we did it on purpose. We weren't running about with big vats and sprinkling it all over the furniture."

I snorted, "I don't think that it was the cheese covered furniture that really freaked her out at first. I mean, yeah she was pissed that we soaked the couch, but I think she was afraid of what she was walking in on." Gabriella tugged on my earlobe with her fingertips.

"We weren't doing anything. We just fell asleep." I chuckled. My mother had been furious when she came home late to find her living room couch, loveseat, and coffee table, covered with cheese. And she had been shocked to find Gabriella and I cuddled on the loveseat with a _serious_ lack of proper clothing.

But there was a completely reasonable explanation for everything. Trust me. I couldn't even make up something like this if I tried.

You see, when the fondue pot exploded, Chad and Jason and Zeke had been hiding behind the couch. They had heard the rumbling and everything and ran away, whereas Gabriella and I had been trying to shut it off. And we ended up getting soaked in _very hot_ melted cheese. But, unfortunately, Gabriella's mom wasn't home from her business conference yet and Gabriella had forgotten her key, and so she had to wear the clothes that she had left at my house. Now, this wouldn't have been a problem if she hadn't left the clothes there two years ago; everything was insanely small and tight on her. And me, well…I sort of never put my shirt on. It was my house! I was allowed to be shirtless if I wanted!

So there we were, really tired and in serious pain because of our cheese-burned skin. And so, we collapsed on top of each other, watching as our friends slept peacefully. We had considered cleaning up, really we had. But we were just too exhausted. And so…we fell asleep. Only to be woken up, what seemed like, moments later by the scream of my mother. We shot up, very disoriented. She started shrieking and what-not.

In the end, Gabriella and I received a stern lecture and we were forced to clean up the room. All by ourselves. I mean, weren't Chad and Zeke and Jason there, too? Right after that, of course, we changed into proper apparel. Needless to say, we were never allowed to have Fondue Night again. At least, not indoors.

Oh, right. The story…

I dropped Gabriella off at her classroom, and then headed back towards mine. About halfway there, Briton slammed into me. Very mature. He sneered at me as I rubbed my shoulder. I really hate him. I mean, I _really_ hate him. One of those I'd-Rather-Gouge-Out-My-Eyes-Than-Stand-Here-And-Talk-To-You hates. It runs deep. Really deep.

"How's Montez?" he asked, giving my shoulder another shove. It came off as one of those friendly shoves to the teachers passing by, but he was just being a bastard. I glared at him.

"She's fine," I snapped.

"Yes she is."

"Fuck off," I snapped. He smirked.

"I see I've hit a nerve. Maybe it's because," he shrugged his shoulders, "_you _wanted to take her?"

I scoffed, "No, I didn't want to take her. I just think she'd be better off taking a lit stick of dynamite than you. It would be safer, and it would be a hell of a lot better conversation." He glared at me.

"She doesn't need you to protect her," he said, stepping closer to me. "She's a big girl now. I don't know if you've noticed or not, but she _is_ of the female gender." He crossed his arms. "I know I've noticed." Disgusting perverted moron staring at Gabriella…

"Leave her alone," I growled, but he just grinned again.

"Something weird is going on between you two. I don't know exactly what it is yet, but as I figure it you, you'd better watch out." He took another step. "I know that keeping her in a glass case where she can't be touched is not good for her. When you four aren't around to protect her in the real world, she's going to get her heart broken. Let her experience it now when someone is still around to pick up the pieces. Or at least, let her go on a freaking date." I glared at him.

"Have you been smoking something lately?" I asked. "Because you'd _have_ to be smoking something if you seriously think that Gabriella would ever consider going on a date with you." He shook his head, sneering a little bit. Have I mentioned that I hate him?

"Not so," he replied. "Girls have a thing for bad boys, especially girls that are rookies." His arrogant tone was seriously pissing me off. And then he swaggered off before I could jump him. I exhaled slowly, trying to restrain myself from running after him.

Things have never been good between Briton Walker and me. For some reason, we've always clashed. Be it the fact that he _refuses_ to quit making perverted remarks about my girl friend (note the use of two separate words) or the fact that he's just a massive jerk with a super ego problem, we hate each other.

And so help me God, if he ever went near Gabriella again…

-x-

-x-

_Well, I think that's enough from Troy for now. As we can all see, he's got _quite _the temper. Also, I would like to point out that the way her refers to people, like Briton for example, are strictly his views, just like about how I express only my views about someone when I write. They're not necessarily the most accurate impressions of people. It's just how we see them. Like, I'm sure that deep down, very, very, very deep down, some of the cheerleaders are decent people. Anyway, let's move back to my point of view. We'll probably hear more from Troy later anyway. _

-My (Gabriella's) Take-

When I came out of health with Chad and Jason, we were all slightly nauseous.

"Birth canal video…" Jason moaned. "Not pretty…" I was flushed. I didn't need to be talking about this with two guys. A noise came from the back of Chad's throat.

"Is Mrs. Daniels insane? I'm going to be sick! And right before lunch, too." Jason started talking about deep-fried ice cream. And no, I don't know the reason. But while they were busy talking, someone grabbed my arm and pulled me away from Chad and Jason and into a small, empty, dead-end hallway. You know what I mean. It was one of those really tiny hallways with ten lockers on it where the lights never work and it's always cold.

"Hey," I yelped, pulling my arm away. I was seriously considering kneeing whoever had grabbed me where the sun doesn't shine. My ankle was already hurting; I didn't need to dislocate my shoulder, too. Looking up, I found myself face to face with Briton. Just the person I really had no desire to see at all. How convenient. "Ugh…" I moaned, moving to leave. But he grabbed my arm again, a little gentler.

"Wait, wait, wait," he pleaded, pulling me back to him. I glared at him, struggling to pull my arm away. He's a lot stronger than me so it posed a challenge.

"Get off me!" I snapped, slapping at his hand with my free limb. "What do you want?" I demanded. I regretted it almost instantly. Briton could easily overpower me. I could either listen willingly, or he could press me up against the lockers.

"Please, wait," he said quietly. I scowled at him, trying to cover my shock; he wasn't yelling or saying anything crude, which must have been hard because I'm pretty sure that three quarters of the words in his brain were crude. And Briton doesn't speak in hushed tones, or in quiet voices. You can always hear what he's saying, whether you're interested or not. It's his nature to be over-the-top loud. So what was he up to? When he looked back at me sadly, I stopped struggling for the moment, desperately trying to figure out why he wasn't yelling. He was acting normal and it was scaring the hell out of me.

"I'm going to be late for class," I pleaded, hoping to escape before he came to his senses and starting getting loud. "Let me go." His grip on my arm loosened.

"I'm sorry about the list," he said softly. I froze. Was Briton Walker, the school's badass, actually apologizing to me? No way. Maybe… No, no way.

I looked at him suspiciously, "What do you want?" He smiled softly.

"Seriously, I'm really sorry about the list. I only made it so that…" He stopped.

"What?" I prodded, feeling as though I was treading on thin ice. He finally let go of my arm, his arms falling down to his sides. I'd never noticed how truly muscular they were. Anyway…

"I want to take you to the dance." I raised an eyebrow at him. Had I heard correctly? I couldn't have.

A) Why would a senior, the 'cutest' (pardon me while I vomit) senior quarterback, want to take me, a nerdy (and proud), junior, Untouchable to the dance? It's not even like it was prom. It was just some random, stupid dance that the Dance Committee had come up with.

And

B) What does that have to do with making the list or dragging me away from my friends and down into a random, deserted hallway, which was actually sort of spooky?

"What are you talking about?" I demanded. He looked down. "First of all, why do you want to take _me _to the dance? I mean, really, the dance is stupid. And face it; I'm way too classy for you." I waited for some sort of reaction, but when I didn't get one, I blazed on. "And what does the dance have to do with the list?" I wanted to know why he made the list. What had driven him even closer to insanity (if that was possible)? He stuffed his hands into his pockets and shrugged slightly.

"Well…uh…" I rolled my eyes.

"Spit it out," I ordered fairly gently. I'd decided to go a little easy on him; he was, obviously, not well in the head today.

"The fewer guys that ask you out, the less competition I have." My eyes widened. Alright; strike that. We are going back to being mean.

"Are you kidding me?" I demanded. "You made a stupid list, telling everyone in school to stay away from me, just so you would have a better shot with me because you're too much of a pansy to just put yourself out there?" He nodded, looking down at the floor. "You're such an ass," I screamed, turning on my heel. He appeared in front of me.

"Come on," he said softly. "Honestly, can you blame me? It's hard enough getting you alone without your boys jumping down my throat. The last thing that would be helpful is ever other guy in the school jumping me, too." I glared at him, crossing my arms over my chest.

"It's not like guys throw themselves at me all the time," I retorted. "If I didn't hate you so much, I would say you would have had a chance. But I hate you, so you wouldn't have had one anyway." He cocked his head, looking into my eyes. The intense green stare made me uncomfortable.

"I really like you," he murmured, stepping closer to me. I wanted to step back, away from him, but for some reason I couldn't. "And I think, with a little time of course, that you might really like me too. I'm really not all that bad. If you give me a chance…" As intense as his gaze was, it was captivating too. And I was determined not to break it. He brought his face closer to mine and I panicked.

It wasn't an, 'Oh my God, this is the moment I've been waiting for' panic though. It was an 'Oh my God, someone save me. I don't want his sick face anywhere near mine,' panic. But for some reason, I couldn't get my body to move. I don't know if it was because it would have resulted in a hopping motion because of my ankle or what, but I wasn't moving. Briton hooked a finger under my chin and tilted my head upwards, lowering his mouth towards mine.

Is that really normal? Do people who rag on you all the time just pull you into deserted sections of the hallway and try to make out with you when you're disabled and incapable of getting away on your own? Because it doesn't seem normal.

Just before our lips touched, someone called my name.

"Ella." There was a pause. "Gabriella, what the _hell_ are you doing?" I whirled around and saw Chad with his arms crossed, eyeing Briton up and down. I stumbled away from Briton, glancing back at him fearfully. That had been a scary experience. Tripping towards Chad in an attempt to keep the weight off my bad foot, I grabbed his arm to steady myself.

"Just get me out of here," I pleaded, gripping his arm. He looked at me funny and I whimpered. "Please? I'll love you forever." He rolled his eyes, throwing me over his shoulder. "Hey," I cried, "Chad, this isn't funny." He started walking and I cast one last glance back at Briton. He was leaning against the wall with his hands tucked deep into his jean pockets, strands of his hair falling into his eyes.

"It wasn't meant to be funny," Chad chuckled. Scowling, I pulled at his hair. "Don't mess with the hair, Ella. I'm not afraid to hurt you." I giggled, watching students stare at me as we passed. They should have been used to seeing things like me being carried over someone's shoulder at that point. Apparently, the students at East High don't adjust quickly.

"Cafeteria?" he asked, pausing at the school's main intersection.

"No, bring me to my locker." He sighed, heading down the hallway. "Thank you, Chady-kins," I cooed.

"Don't push it," he warned, glancing up at me. "I'm already carrying you. I don't want to listen to you being all girly the entire time." I smiled as he stopped in front of my locker.

"That's a great look for you, Brie. Just your ass dangling over Chad's shoulder," Troy's voice cut in sarcastically. Chad put me down and pushed up his sleeves. I glared at Troy, moving to my locker.

"Thanks," I snapped, spinning in my locker combination. "That isn't a good look for you; take off the pig mask."

He smirked, "Nice comeback."

"Shut up," I muttered, swinging my locker open. I grabbed my English notebook and my science binder before casting a weary glance at Troy. "Is there any chance that your dad would be in the teacher's lounge right now?" He rolled his eyes, tucking his own books under his arm. He reached into my locker and grabbed my lunch.

"I'll be a little late to lunch. Save me a seat?" As if he had to ask. I smiled, hopping around.

"Thank you," I breathed, slamming my locker shut. "You're awesome, you know that?" He wiggled his eyebrows.

"I'm more than awesome," he gloated. Chad coughed '_loser_' and Troy shoved his arm. "Shut up, man." He turned around in search of the teacher's lounge, his father, and a microwave. Chad picked me up again, this time holding me in front of his body, one arm behind my knees and the other under my arms.

Entering a crowded hallway, he frowned slightly. "Why didn't they just give you crutches? Wouldn't that have been a lot easier than having Troy and I carry you around all day? Or a wheelchair?" I shook my head.

"Don't you remember what happened when Jason broke his leg and they gave him a wheelchair?" Chad frowned in confusion. I swear, sometimes I think the roots from his hair have grown into his skull and are feeding off the nutrients in his brain.

"Jason broke his leg?" I rolled my eyes.

"Yes. Two years ago, you guys were racing up the tree in my backyard and the branch Jason was on snapped and he fell. His leg broke and they gave him a wheelchair. And then you decided that it would be a good idea to run him through the hallways like it was a 'mini-car on a mini-highway.' Principal Matsui wasn't too happy, if I remember correctly." He burst into the cafeteria, laughing deeply.

"Oh, yeah. I remember that. We almost hit him when we ran by his office." I giggled a little and he stopped at our table. "We should climb trees more often," he chuckled, dropping me to the floor. I kicked his calf gently before sinking down into a seat. Zeke was looking at me with a raised eyebrow, half of my turkey sandwich stuffed in his mouth. Jason was giving me the same look, the straw from his drink clenched between his teeth. Chad dropped into the seat between Zeke and I, leaving the one between Jason and I empty; obviously, that was Troy's seat.

"That's just what Jason needs; to get dropped from heights more often," I drawled sarcastically as the corners of my mouth turned up. Chad grinned at me, getting up to go buy his lunch. "Bring me a fork!" I shouted after him. He waved a hand in the air. Turning back to the table, I watched Zeke shake up a bottle of…something green.

"What is that?" I asked, not bothering to mask the disgust in my voice. "And why is it green?" Zeke glanced at me, concentrating on shaking the drink.

"It's some sort of vegetable thing my mom made. You know, like V8, only not red." I nodded and wrinkled my nose, turning my attention to Jason. "Would you drink that?"

He shook his head, "I don't think it looks good either." Staring at his milk carton, he mumbled, "Drinks shouldn't be green." I nodded, looking down at my English notebook. Suddenly, a steaming plastic container was slammed down in front of me and a white plastic fork was stabbed into the meatloaf. I jumped, yelping.

"Thank you, Troy and Chad," I said sarcastically. Troy fell into the chair next to me and Chad did the same on my other side. Chad placed his lunch tray on the table, poking at something smothered in gravy with his bright red straw.

"Welcome," they muttered simultaneously. I rolled my eyes, removing the fork from the meat.

"Now that we're all here," Chad said suddenly, pushing his tray to the center of the table, "I think there's something you all need to know." I ignored him, taking a bite of the meatloaf. I sighed contently. Damn, Zeke's mom was good at making meatloaf.

"Today, right after health and right before lunch, I witnessed something horrific and disturbing." My head snapped up and I glanced around the table. Zeke and Jason were more concerned with their food, but Troy appeared to be listening as he popped the top of his Coke.

"Hey," I said louder than necessary, "There are potatoes in here." My weak attempt at distracting Chad with food was futile, as he shot me a You're-Not-Getting-Away-With-This look. I looked down at the container, focusing my eyes on the lone potato in the corner, wishing that for once in his life, Briton would not make my life hell.

"I saw our own Gabriella Montez _kissing _Briton Walker in the tiny hallway." I heard a sputtering noise and felt something wet on my arm. Looking up, I discovered that Troy had spit out his Coke and was staring at me, as were Zeke and Jason and Chad.

-x-

_At this point, Chad wanted me to include everyone's thoughts/reactions to his announcement._

Zeke: Say what? She didn't… They didn't… Say what? (Hard of hearing, no?)

Jason: Health video… That was some nasty stuff. (Completely irrelevant.)

Troy: What the fuck was she thinking? I'm going to kill him. (Briton)

Me: Troy's going to kill him… (Briton)

Chad: Do the lunch ladies really expect me to eat this? (He never did have a long attention span.)

_He thought that that would be worth including. Why, I'm not sure. But he asked nicely, so I figured, why not?_

_Anyway:_

-x-

"You did _what_?" Troy growled, wiping the soda away from his mouth. I glanced around the table, desperate for a kind look, but I didn't find one. I should have known better. So much for my 'I'm Not A Backstabber' argument from earlier.

"You kissed him?" Zeke asked in disbelief, placing the bottle of green liquid on the table. "You kissed Briton Walker, _the _Briton Walker? As in, the guy that we all hate, you included?"

"Yes, that Briton Walker," Chad said in his 'angry' voice. Stupid macho Chad trying to be all stupid macho so he can impress our stupid overreacting friends. "I saw it." Jason remained silent, just staring at me.

"I can't believe this," Troy snapped, glaring at his Coke can. "This is unbelievable. What the _fuck _were you thinking?" he demanded, turning his glare to me.

"I didn't really kiss him," I squeaked. "He dragged me into the hallway and started talking, but I couldn't leave because of my ankle. So I was stuck there and then he tried to kiss me and Chad came and interrupted him. So, we really didn't kiss. And even if we _had, _he would have been the one doing the kissing, not me." I thought that the simple explanation would have been enough.

I thought wrong.

Troy looked murderous. "I'll kill him," he growled. "I'll strangle him with my bare hands."

"Whoa," I said, holding up my hands, "There should be no murdering." I looked around the table. "It was no big deal; now will you four just calm down? It's not like we're dating, and it's not like we're ever going to, so it would be nice if you let him live and didn't go do jail on murder charges."

"That could be considered sexual harassment!" Troy argued. "He's already eighteen. You're still a minor." I rolled my eyes and stole a sip of Troy's Coke. After swallowing, I laid my hands flat on the table.

"Listen to me, alright? I was the one he tried to kiss. He wasn't trying to get it on with Jason or Zeke; it was me. Now, out of the five of us, I think I have to most right to be pissed off. And I am. He's a jerk and I hate him. But I'm just going to let it go. I'm not going to press charges against him and try to get him arrested for sexual harassment during his last year of high school for trying to kiss me. Trying. _Trying_. Don't you think that that would be a little bitchy?" The table was silent for a brief moment.

"I don't like him," Troy growled simply, looking at the sandwich that had been in his hand, which was squished and flat.

"News flash," I joked. "Neither do I." He chuckled softly, tossing the flattened mess on the table and stealing the meatloaf off my fork. "Hey," I whined, watching it disappear into his mouth. Actually, he stuck out his tongue so I got to see it once more. (Thank you, Troy, I really appreciated that.)

For the rest of lunch, we continued bashing Briton, much to Troy's obvious delight. I however, would have preferred a change of subject. I didn't really want to think about him anymore. Troy also continued on to eat half of Zeke's mother's meatloaf (a.k.a. my lunch).

The rest of the day was fairly uneventful. I did get sent out of art because Chad got paint in my hair. Well, it might have had something to do with the pencil I threw at him, but I'm not sure. I had gotten swamped with homework, so after Troy carried me up to my room, I spent the rest of my night there, trying to write a rough draft of an essay, completely five Spanish worksheets, two pages of math work, and read a chapter in my history textbook.

For several hours, I could hear the guys playing basketball in Troy's backyard, not able to understand how they weren't swamped with homework. Especially Troy; he had to do the essay, the worksheets, and the chapter reading. I found myself daydreaming about going out and playing with them, and I even tried to stand. Bad idea. I fell to the ground instantly, grabbing my ankle. But other than that, the day was uneventful.

I fell asleep as soon as I climbed under the covers, knocking my plate of half-eaten pizza onto the floor. Luckily, there was no stain. My mom's stain-phobic. I swear she would marry Resolve – or more preferably Mr. Clean – if she could.

However, something did happen that _night_. I had the weirdest dream, and I woke up, panting and sweating. I'd dreamed that Briton actually had actually gotten a chance, and that he'd kissed me.

Now _that's _a nightmare if I've ever heard one.

-x-

-x-

**Author's Note: **I had planned on updating this chapter much sooner, but school decided that it would kick my ass for a little while so it took longer than planned. I've been sick since Friday so I got a little bit of writing done while I was home. Hopefully, there won't be as large a delay in the update of the next chapter as there was for this one. I would absolutely love feedback about characters. I'm specifically excited to see how everyone feels about Briton's character. As always, feel free to leave questions. I'll try to answer you as best as I can.


	5. The Hate

**-CHAPTER FOUR-**

**-Tuesday-**

**-The Hate (Relationship)-**

_Someone (cough-Jason-cough) was nice enough to point out that I hadn't explained why, exactly, Ice Bitch (Sharpay) and I hate each other. And since she does play a bigger role in this story than I've led on, I think it's important that I explain this. So, there's this one specific memory that should explain why Sharpay and I can't stand each other. _

_Wait, change of plans; Chad wants to tell the story. So, brace yourselves because things are about to get a lot more confusing than necessary._

-Chad's Take-

-flashback-

_Sharpay Evans had invited us to her 'Daddy – Please – Don't – Make – Me – Go – Back – To – Public – School' pool party before the start of school, just like she had for years. Zeke's mom dropped us off at the Evans' mansion on her way to the store. It was me, Troy, Zeke, Jason, and Gabriella. We must have been standing on their front walk for a good ten minutes, just staring at their house, which had definitely gotten bigger in the past twelve months. (There are twelve months in a year, right?) I mean, Troy's house is pretty massive because his mom inherited it from her great-grandfather the bazillionaire who was some huge business person, but it was nothing like this house. _

"_Holy-"_

"_-Cheese," I cut Troy off. He looked at me, an eyebrow raised. _

"_Cheese?" he asked and I could see Gabriella leaning forward to give me a look from beside him. She was beside him. How shocking. They were always together. Ever since that game of Seven Minutes in Heaven a couple of months ago. I think she fancies him. See that, Mrs. Kelly? I can use proper words! Fancies… What now, Mrs. Kelly, what now? And you failed me in English… Well I showed you. Anyway…yeah. I like cheese. What's wrong with cheese?_

"_Yeah; do you think they'll have little cheese cubes like they had last time?" I was ignored. _

_After we got over the shock of seeing the house, we managed to make our way to the backyard. I couldn't even guess how many people there were. They were all over. Guys were walking being all macho and the girls were swaying their hips way too much for it to be natural. Now, that's what I call a 'Daddy – Please – Don't – Make – Me – Go – Back – To – Public – School' party. _

"_Hi, Troy," someone said, scaring me. That voice…God, that voice haunts me. Some people have nightmares about spiders or falling into pits. But I have nightmares about _her. _We all turned around and found Sharpay standing in this hideous bright pink bikini and a weird robe-thingy. Her sunglasses were abnormally large and she was reading (gasp!) a Vogue magazine (strike that gasp! from the record). She started getting all giggly and was making flirty eyes at Troy, reaching up to take off her sunglasses. _

"_Hi, Sharpay," Zeke jumped in. He always has and always will like her. I don't know why, though. She never notices him. She glanced at him quickly and gave him a quick pity-smirk. He looked down at his feet. Poor dude; never saw it coming. _

"_This is a nice party," Gabriella said, looking around. "There are a lot of people here. Do all of these people go to East High?" Sharpay blinked at her, jutting out her hip. And here we go again._

"_No. I know people outside of that hideous building. I know a lot of people, Gabrielle. I'm popular. People like me. I'll tell you about it later, 'kay? M'kay." Gabriella blinked back. _

"_My name's Gabriella, Sharpie. It's been Gabriella since I was born. I'd think that after all this time you'd at least be smart enough to remember that." Troy snorted quietly, gently elbowing me. Sharpay flicked her hair over her shoulder and turned towards Troy. _

"_So, Troy, are you enjoying my party?" He looked up, the laughter slowly dying on his face. Grabbing his upper arm with his other hand, he shrugged, looking around._

"_I just got here," he told her. "But it's been good for the whole…thirty seconds I've been standing here." She grinned at him, missing his dig, and put her sunglasses back on. _

"_Why don't you take a dip in our pool?" she suggested sultrily. "Maybe I'll join you." She winked, giggling. Troy smiled weakly, taking a small step backwards. She swaggered away, plopping down on a random lawn chair to sunbathe. He turned away from her and his whole body shivered. _

"_Alright, the pool is officially off limits," he announced, heading off into the crowd. Gabriella and Jason started to laugh as they followed him, leaving Zeke and I alone. I clapped him on the back. He just doesn't get it. _

"_Face it, man. As long as she thinks that she's got a shot with Troy, she won't see you there." He sighed and glanced over at her as she sat on the chair, flitting quickly though the magazine. _

"_I know," he muttered, starting to follow Jason and Troy. "But I can always dream, can't I? Maybe one day she'll realize that Troy, deep down, doesn't give a shit about her." I chuckled and nodded at him. _

"_Dreams are cool." When we found the other three, they'd already stripped down to their bathing suits. I, of course, look better than all of them when I don't have a shirt on. After all, I do have the most fantastic body ever. I'm just amazing. It's like, whoa. _

"_Nice bathing suit," I snorted at Gabriella. She looked down at the bright red one-piece she was wearing with the white shorts that she was refusing to take off._

"_Thanks," she said, ignoring my sarcasm. _

"_I think that she looks nice." I frowned and turned around. Everyone shifted their gaze and watched as he began to blush._

"_Did I say that out loud?" Jason looked around bashfully. Gabriella crossed her arms over her chest and took a small step back. I think we need to get him evaluated. It cannot be possible for someone to be that slow and not have a serious problem._

"_Yes," Troy said slowly as his eyebrows rose, "You did say that out loud." Jason shrugged. _

"_Red is my favorite color." Gabriella reached over and gently patted his arm._

"_Just stop talking right now, and we'll forget about it, alright?" He nodded sheepishly. I stripped off my shirt and threw it on the chair behind Troy. _

"_Why doesn't she like me?" Zeke moaned, sitting down on my shirt. "Why does she like him? What's so special about him?" he demanded, jerking a thumb at Troy. "What is so special about you? You're not all that great, you know!" _

"_Hey," Troy frowned, "I like to think of myself as attractive!" Gabriella giggled and ran a hand through her hair._

"_Too bad no one else does." I laughed and gave her a quick high-five. Troy glared at her, giving her shoulder a gentle push._

"_Shut up." She smirked at him, crossing her arms over her stomach. "You know you think I'm hot." Her eyebrows rose. _

"_The only reason I would ever think you were hot is if you got badly sunburned." His eyes flashed and I exchanged glances with Jason. That was never good. It usually ended in some sort of embarrassing moment. Usually for me or Jason or Zeke, not Gabriella or Troy though. _

"_Are you saying that this," he gestured to his body, "has no effect, what so ever, on you?" _

_She nodded, "There really isn't much there." He gasped dramatically, making me roll my eyes. God, it's like watching two people flirt; nauseating. Actually, it's exactly like watching two people flirt. _

"_I bet, within the next couple of years, you'll find yourself drooling over me." Gabriella wiggled her eyebrows at him. _

"_I promise you," she said, her eyes wide and innocent as she placed her hand on his chest, "That I will _never_ turn into Sharpay Evans." He had to laugh at that. We all did. Sharpay had been trying to get Troy's attentions since we were little and he got her Barbie doll back from Mitchell Reid on the playground, rescuing her from a life of sandy hair. _

"_Troy! There you are!" Troy groaned and turned around to find Sharpay standing there, still clutching her magazine. The girl on the front was half dressed and was not hard to look at. I mean, whoa. "I completely forgot to show you my new skirt!" Troy looked down; she wasn't wearing a skirt. I glanced at Gabriella and found her scowling slightly, her arm crossed tightly over her chest._

"_You're not wearing one," Troy said slowly, scratching the back of his neck. Sharpay giggled obnoxiously, playfully slapping at Troy's arm. He winced. We later found out that her nail had cut into his arm. That's how you know that your nails are too long; when they are slicing peoples' arms open. _

"_Well, you have to come up to my room then, silly. It's beautiful; you should really see it! I just know you'll love it." My eyes widened at the lengths this girl was going to to get Troy up to her room. Zeke looked just as shocked, and twice as dejected, as before. I felt bad for him, really bad. Sympathy… I like that word. _

"_Why don't you go get it, and then come back and show me?" Troy suggested desperately. Sharpay's smile faded, but she collected herself. _

"_Alright," she squeaked. Tapping his nose, she cooed, "Don't go anywhere." He smiled weakly. _

"_I promise," he stammered, reaching up to rub his nose. She giggled, blew him a kiss, and skipped away, dropping her magazine onto the ground. "Does anyone hate that girl as much as me?" he asked. Gabriella, Jason and I all raised our hands. We looked at Zeke. _

"_I wish I could hate her," he muttered into his hands. Troy clapped him on the back. _

"_Believe me, man, you can have her. I don't want her." Zeke shrugged. "It's just my animal magnetism." Gabriella snorted. _

"_You have as much animal magnetism as Chad has proper vocabulary words and Zeke has fast food receipts." Okay, she managed to diss three of us, all in one sentence. She insulted Troy's magnetism, my vocabulary, and…and she really complimented Zeke, because he never orders fast food or take out. Once, I brought a soda from Wendy's into his house, and he knocked it out of my hand screaming, "Devil Food! Devil Food!" I wasn't very happy about that. It was a root beer. But I already proved that I have good vocabulary! Don't you remember that 'fancies' thing?_

"_Oh, you're such a bitch," I said, lunging at her. She ducked under my arms, running towards the pool as she squealed. I chased her around the pool five times before she got tired at stopped. Her hands were on her knees when I found her. She looked up, her eyes wide. "I have an excellent vocabulary." She glanced backwards at the pool and then back at my evil grin. She held up her hands, backing towards the pool slowly. _

"_Chad, don't do it," she warned as her eyes widened. Troy appeared beside me, grinning evilly. She looked at him. "Oh, come on, please…" Jason and Zeke were on my other side, all advancing towards her. "Get away from me," she giggled, taking another step backwards. And then things went sour. She turned and started to run again, but she stepped on Sharpay's discarded, and rather moist, Vogue magazine and stumbled backwards on the pavement. _

_So, obviously, seeing her in peril, I leapt into action. My brain working at top speed, I lunged towards her, thrusting out my arms in an attempt to catch her body before she hit the ground. Obviously, based on prior knowledge of how amazing I am, we can conclude that I saved the day._

_Ouch. Okay. I was just hit in the back of the head by _someone_ who told me that "my story is supposed to be realistic, you moron" and then hit me again. _

_Fine; you want the real story? It's no fun, but you asked for it. I yelped like a little girl while some random party guest grabbed her arm, trying to keep her from falling. Unfortunately, he didn't catch her soon enough and she still smacked herself unconscious on the cement. Troy let out a very loud "Oh, shit," and ran over to her limp body, checking for blood. There wasn't any. But we all know that if there was, Super-Troy would have found some miraculous way to save her life (because they fancy each other) and then later on, he would have embraced her slowly, their lips touching gently at first, their passion slowly growing and then –_

_Ouch. Okay. So once again, I was slapped in the head. Ouch. There it is again. Okay, ouch. Ouch. OUCH. No, Gabriella, if you keep – ouch – hitting me I am going to – ouch – keep saying OUCH. If you keep hitting me… We are never going to get through the story this way!_

_Anyway…_

_We were all crowded around her body, really, really worried. None of us are very good in emergencies. Except for Zeke; he's usually weirdly calm. The rest of us tend to panic. And Gabriella's mom was going to shoot us if she found out that her "baby" was in the hospital with a nasty concussion. _

"_We should probably give her some air," Zeke suggested, rocking back on his heels. He put two fingers to her neck and sighed. "She's got a pulse. I think she just hit her head a little too hard." Troy frowned slightly, looking down at her. _

"_Well, shouldn't we call an ambulance, or something?" he demanded. "I mean, she could be seriously hurt." Zeke shook his head, gently shifting Gabriella's head onto his leg so that it wasn't on the cement still. _

"_I'd actually be more worried if she hadn't lost consciousness at all." Troy rolled his eyes, touching Gabriella's arm. He _so_ loves her. "Did you sleep all through health last year? Honestly. We learned all about this stuff." I raised an eyebrow. _

"_Are you sure that she's going to be alright? I mean-"_

"_She's fine. Now stop yelling." We looked down and Troy grinned. And here we go again._

"_Brie," Troy breathed, "You're awake." Gabriella groaned slightly, bringing a hand up to her forehead. Grunting as she tried to sit up, she let herself fall back against Zeke again. _

"_Did someone shoot me in the head, or something? Did Sharpay hit me with a baseball bat? Catch me with a wine bottle or something? Seriously, why does my head feel like such shit?" Jason reached over and ruffled her hair lightly. _

"_Don't be stupid, Elle. You tripped on Sharpay's Vogue magazine and your head high fived the cement." Gabriella glanced tiredly at him and he smiled back at her, almost stupidly. Troy shifted to the side, his hand gripping Gabriella's tightly. _

"_Because that's the most obvious choice, right?" Jason chuckled softly, sitting back. Gabriella used her free hand to swat at him and groaned again. "I think now would be a good time to go home." I chuckled softly. _

"_I think you've got a good point, Ella." She smiled weakly, her eyes fluttering shut. Just as we're about to get up and leave, Sharpay comes pushing through the crowd. _

"_Oh, my God," she screamed, looking down at the five of us on the ground. My eyes widened; for her to care about anything other than herself was rare. It was like…me skipping breakfast rare. She ran forward, past Gabriella, and collapsed onto the ground by the pool. Reaching in, she pulled out the magazine that Gabriella slipped on. "My Vogue!" she screamed, looking at the soggy mess. "This was a special edition! And it's ruined!" I rolled my eyes and bent down beside Gabriella, pulling her into a quick hug. _

"_Are you sure you're alright?" I asked, watching the color return to her face slowly. She nodded, giving Troy's hand a gentle squeeze. Oh yeah, that's right. She thought she could be all sneaky and stuff, but I saw it anyway. But anyway, while Zeke and Jason and I were double checking that Gabriella was really alright, Troy was…going off on Sharpay. _

"_Are you serious?" he growled at her angrily. She turned to him, her eyes wide. And then she smiled seductively. Ugh. Vomit._

"_How silly of me," she giggled. "Don't you love this skirt?" she wiggled her eyebrows and fingered the thin material. She twirled around twice, dancing over towards him. "Go ahead. You can touch it." He swatted her away. _

"_I don't give a fuck about your skirt." My head snapped towards them; even Gabriella looked surprised. That was the first time we'd ever heard Troy get angry with a girl other than Gabriella herself. And even with her, they were usually stupid arguments about cheese doodles and who said what to who and stupid things like that._

"_Gabriella practically cracked her skull open because you left that stupid magazine on the ground and you're having a heart attack because it's wet. I'm sure that daddy will buy you a new one." Sharpay looked stunned for a moment and she took a small step back. "And I don't really care what you're wearing today, or any day for that matter," he snapped. Sharpay gaped at him, her eyes finally finding his hand, which was clutched in Gabriella's. Her expression hardened. _

_Troy turned away from her and didn't happen to catch the murderous glare that Sharpay cast at Gabriella. It was a really scary one, too. Gabriella didn't really seem to care though. She'd never been best friends with Sharpay anyway because Sharpay was always jealous of Gabriella's friendship with me, because I'm hot. And maybe Troy. But it was mostly me. And just a little Troy. _

_Did you notice the bitter resentment coursing through my words? The bitterness comes from the fact that she never even noticed my hotness because she was too busy drooling over Troy. And it's not even that I wanted her to notice. It's just that…I'm hot! How could she not notice? Even my grandma's noticed! Once, we were at her house and she said-_

_Ouch. Sorry. That's a little off-track. Back to the story: Sharpay and Gabriella never really got along because Sharpay was jealous of Gabriella. And the event in which Gabriella almost cracked open her skull was Sharpay's fault (because of the magazine), which just made their 'relationship' even worse. So their relationship went from one of dislike to one of hate. _

"_Are you one hundred percent sure that you're alright?" Troy asked Gabriella quietly. She nodded. _

"_I'm okay; just a little dizzy is all." He smiled at her. By this time, Sharpay had let out an unnaturally high-pitched scream and stormed into the house, Ryan following while fanning the magazine. "I'm actually very dizzy," Gabriella murmured, holding my arms as she tried to sit up. Looking at Jason, I rolled my eyes. _

"_Let's take her home." They stood and went in search of their clothes. I tried standing, only to discover that I couldn't lift Gabriella off of the ground. Troy and Zeke were the weight lifters, not me. I didn't really have upper-body strength; stamina was my thing. Troy reappeared, his shirt slung over his shoulder. He rolled his eyes at me and bent down to pick up Gabriella. He hooked one arm under her legs with the other by her arms. _

"_My hero," Gabriella joked, wrapping her arms around his neck. He chuckled, raising an eyebrow at me. _

"_Shut up, alright?" I snapped at him, "Show off." He grinned at me, moving towards the Evans's front yard. I trailed behind Jason and Zeke, stopping to pick up my shirt. We walked through the 'mansion' to get to the front yard, where we waited a half hour for Jason's brother to pick us up and bring Gabriella back to Troy's house, where he then carried her home. Two words: Show. Off. _

_I told you! Stamina is my thing!_

_But basically, that's why Sharpay and Gabriella hate each other. Gabriella almost cracked her head open after slipping on Sharpay's magazine, causing Troy to snap at Sharpay, which she blamed on Gabriella, who she was then mean to. And by mean, I am referring to being bitchy, cruel, and downright evil. And Gabriella wasn't about to take that lying down. So she was bitchy back. And things just escalated from there. _

-end flashback-

-My (Gabriella's) Take-

_I hope Chad didn't confuse you too much. Rereading what he wrote, I realized that he's even more confusing on paper than he is in real life. His last paragraph was really all you needed to read to understand why we hate each other. She never forgave me for nearly opening my skull at her party. I know; how dare I? And when she started going after me at school, I had to defend myself. Anyway, we'll go back to the present time now._

-x-

-x-

Tuesday morning, I woke myself. Well, really it was my alarm clock that woke me, but at least it wasn't Troy and Chad bursting through my balcony doors. After I got out of the shower, I couldn't find my bra, so I wrapped the towel around my body and pulled open the bathroom door. I found Troy sitting on my bed, innocently kicking the heels of his feet against my box spring.

"Holy crap," I yelped, clutching the towel to my body. He rolled his eyes at me, stilling his feet and uncrossing his arms.

"I see your ankle is feeling better," he pointed out. "Besides, it's not like I don't know what's under there." I glared at him, carefully sliding over to my dresser, trying to avoid forcing the towel open with my steps. Pulling the drawer open gently, I began shifting through the material.

"It doesn't matter that you know what's under the towel. I would really prefer if you didn't see it. What if I had walked in here naked, innocently expecting privacy in my own room?" He seemed to consider it for a moment, his jaw setting. That's what scared me.

"I would call you an idiot. Wear the red one," he said, referring to my bras. I glared at him again, throwing a misplaced washcloth at him. He dodged it easily, smirking at me. "No, seriously, wear it." That resulted in a pillow from my chair 'launching itself' at his head. He caught it. Damn his reflexes. Chuckling softly, he tossed it back on the chair. "Alright, seriously, I _would_ call you an idiot. You know that being friends with me and Chad and Jason and Zeke means you forfeit your right to privacy." I glanced at him, shrugging slightly.

I didn't argue because, basically, it was true. You couldn't hide _anything _from them. Sometimes it's annoying. Like, take for example, the time that Chad found a spare maxi-pad in my pocket and paraded it around the room screaming_, "Our little girl is all grown up." _That was a time when it was near-strangulation annoying.

But sometimes it can be nice. Like the time that this girl kept picking on me in fourth grade because I had reading glasses. I didn't want to tell anyone, but when I came home with a big bruise on my face, Zeke and Troy went ballistic and wouldn't stop hounding me until I told them where I got it from. I kept saying I hurt myself during a game of ping-pong, but they didn't believe me, mainly because, at that point, I wasn't tall enough to reach a ping-pong table. It was kind of scary at first when they were screaming, but it was kind of nice that Gertrude stopped picking on me.

Troy started chuckling and I glanced up at him. "Do you remember that time when Chad found your maxi-pad and started running around the room with it, over and over, screaming-" I cut him off.

"Yes," I said forcefully, ending his sentence. "I do recall such an event." He raised an eyebrow at me, a smirk playing on his lips.

"Someone's a little crabby this morning." A wicked grin found his face. "Is it that time of the month?" Now, that seriously pissed me off. Stupid men are always thinking that everything revolves around a woman's menstrual cycle.

"You know what?" I hissed. "When your uterus starts bleeding, then you can talk to me about that. And for your _freaking_ information, it is _not_ that time of the month." I grabbed my clothes and stormed into the bathroom. Throwing them down on the floor, I let out this weird, frustrated noise. There was a soft knock on the door. I groaned, snapping the door open.

"What?" I snapped, trying to hold the now-sagging towel up. He looked down.

"Sorry," he said softly. "That was kind of uncalled for." My face softened and I nodded slightly. He held out my bra. "Wear the red one," he repeated. I rolled my eyes, exasperated, but snatched the bra from his hands, slamming the door in his face.

Just so you know: This isn't a typical morning. He doesn't usually randomly insult me and then tell me which bra to wear. Okay, he _never_ tells me which bra to wear. But, for some sick and twisted reason, he told me that morning. Even more sick and twisted was that I listened to him. Even more sick and twisted and wrong than that was that he was right about wearing it; it was my best one. (I know, how weird?)

When I finally came out of the bathroom, with my hair dry and my clothes on, he was sitting at my computer.

"What are you doing _now_?" I asked, stuffing my extra bra back into my dresser. He closed the screen and stood up, stretching his arms above his head. Walking in my direction, he stopped and sat down on my bed again as I began gathering some of my stray school books.

"Checking my e-mail," he yawned, running a hand through his hair. I gasped and placed a hand over my heart, turning to face him.

"My goodness, the Iron-Man gets tired?" He smiled at me, nodding his head at my comment. I knocked over my container of pencils and groaned slightly, sitting down to begin picking them up. He appeared beside me, gathering several Ticonderoga pencils in his hands.

"He does. It's rare, but he does." I giggled, stuffing some of the pencils back into the plastic jar. He scooted closer to me, forcing his pencils in as well. He stood slowly and offered me a hand, pulling me to my feet.

"Thank God," I joked, wrapping my arms loosely around his torso. "I was starting to think you weren't human." He chuckled softly.

"Oh, I am one hundred percent positive that I'm human." His tone became bitter and he glared at the wall behind my head. "My parents did show me the _video of my birth _yesterday." I pulled away from him.

"Eww!" I exclaimed. Now, that's just cruel. Showing a guy the video of his birth is just…really, really evil. Even my mom hasn't done that. Although, she did threaten to if she ever caught me having 'intimate relations' because she wanted me to know 'what I was in for.' Troy nodded, frowning.

"Yeah… My dad thought it would be a good idea for me to see my own birth as well as the birth canal video I saw in health." He shivered slightly. "They made me watch everything. My mom…me crowning…my body coming out…" He shivered again and my eyes widened in horror.

"That's…that's so wrong!" He nodded, grabbing the back of his neck.

"I don't think I'm ever going to be able to sleep again," he whimpered. I giggled softly, still horrified at the thought of what he went through. It must have been awkward enough to be sitting in health class, watching a video of some random women pushing a child out of her. It must have been shooting-yourself uncomfortable to watch your own mother doing it.

"Your parents had better keep that idea to themselves or you're going to have three very upset male friends and one seriously pissed off female friend." Troy shook his head and ruffled my hair gently.

"Chad won't be seriously pissed." I started to chuckle, but stopped, frowning up at him.

"That would have been a lot funnier if you hadn't just called me a guy." He furrowed his eyebrows and cocked his head to one side.

"Did I?" He paused for a moment, reprocessing what he had just said. "Oh. My bad. I didn't mean to." I rolled my eyes at him, smiling slightly. He's so dense sometimes, just like Chad. But that's why I love him.

Like a _friend._

-x-

-x-

We were almost late to school that day. Chad's alarm clock had mysteriously shut off by itself…_seven times_. He hit the snooze button _seven times_! Wouldn't you just give up and stop fighting by the third time? Or at least realize that it's beeping at you for a reason?

While I was rushing to my locker, my ankle feeling much better, I almost bumped into Ice Bitch. "Sorry!" I rushed, brushing past her and not really noticing who it was. Had I noticed that it was her, I would have shoved her down really hard and then broken the heel off her bedazzled shoes. Seriously, who bedazzles their shoes?

"Crack your head open on anyone's pool lately?" she sneered after me. I stopped mid-step and turned to face her. I crossed my arms over my chest.

"Did you take stupid pills this morning?" I snapped, "Because if I had actually cracked my head open recently, I probably wouldn't be in school right now." She pouted.

"It's a shame you didn't and that are." I rolled my eyes. Oh-ho-ho; isn't she just Little Miss Creative. You would think that with all of her acting and line-memorizing and what not, that she'd be able to string together a coherent insult. But apparently not.

"Is that the best you've got?" I goaded, watching as she pursed her lips and tapped her stiletto-clad foot on the tiled hallway floor. For a moment, she looked stumped, but then her face lit up and she pointed at me victoriously.

"Troy's not into you." The smirk fell off my face and confusion worked its way on. What did that _mean_? He's not into me? I really hate Evans and her disjointed babble.

"What does that even mean?" I asked with my eyebrows furrowed. Sharpay smirked at me and crossed her arms triumphantly.

"Troy doesn't like you in that way, like, in a relationship way. I can tell from the way you look at him that you want him to. But he doesn't." I was speechless. "I bet you didn't think that anyone would figure it out. But I know how much you really want him to like you. But he doesn't." Finally, I managed a sentence.

"Saying that Troy isn't into me is like saying that Ryan isn't into you." Sharpay's face contorted into a look of distaste and she wrinkled her nose.

"Why would Ryan want to date me?" I squeezed my eyes shut and groaned, slapping my forehead. Opening my eyes again, I started at her for a moment. She said nothing.

"I'm referring to the brother sister relationship, you twit! How could you not get that? Ryan is your brother." I paused, allowing her a moment to absorb that information. "Troy is like my brother. You are to Ryan as I am to Troy, understand." Sharpay scowled at me, examining her nails quickly.

"Not really, but it's better that I don't. If I did, then I'd be a nerd like you." As an afterthought, she added, "You are a loser, aren't you?" I scowled at her. Look at who's talking, bi-otch.

"Don't you have a class to be flunking, or something?" I snapped at her. She opened her mouth to retort, but then closed it again, remaining silent. I felt a hand touch my elbow and I turned around to find myself face to face with Troy.

"Can't you keep up for one minute? I turn around for one second and you've totally disappeared on me." I smiled at him as he pulled me down the hallway. "She'll have to talk to you later, Sharpay," he called over his shoulder. I turned back to watch Ice Bitch as she brushed a strand of blonde hair over her shoulder and then placed her hand on her hip. Then, she turned and stalked away, no doubt looking for Ryan.

"You owe me in a major way," Troy chuckled. "I just saved your ass back there. She was going to rip you apart." I rolled my eyes and shoved his arm.

"You know perfectly well that I could have taken her down." He grinned down at me through his eyelashes, and let me say, I wouldn't mind if he looked at me like that all the time. I mean, he's like my brother and all, but that stare was beyond sexy. It was the same stare he always gave me, but somehow, by looking down at me through his eyelashes, it became amazingly sexy.

"How bad do you think detention is going to be today?" His voice was breaking through my thoughts. And they were nice thoughts, too. Stupid Troy. His sexy stare just dropped, like, three levels of sexiness. And that is a lot of sexiness. I blinked a few times and refocused my eyes.

"I don't know. Darbus was pretty pissed about the PDA's." He frowned slightly, moving towards his locker. He glanced at me. "Do _not_ say that you got no affection, Troy. It's not like I was going to give you any, anyway." He smirked at me. "How do you think your dad's going to feel about you missing his little practice session in the backyard?" Troy rolled his eyes. "How is he going to feel about the detention?"

"I'll just pretend like I'm finally acting my age. I'm being a teenager. Rebel!" I rolled my eyes at him, laughing softly. "It's not like I'm telling him that I got detention. He'd probably be happier if I told him that I was out with a girl." I snorted softly.

"Yeah, I can see the conversation now. 'Troy, where have you been?' 'I was out having sex with a girl in the park.' 'Oh, well, as long as you weren't in detention.' And I'm sure that is exactly how he would react." Troy smiled at me and then began picking binders from his locker.

"You're a very sarcastic person."

"You wouldn't love me as much if I wasn't as sarcastic as I am." He paused for a moment, looking down at the cover of a paperback book, one that we're reading for English.

Then he glanced at me and smiled again, "Just like you wouldn't like Chad if he wasn't as much of a jackass as he is, or Zeke if he wasn't as fatty-food-phobic as he is, or Jason if he wasn't as utterly clueless as he is, or me if I wasn't…just me." If you really think about it, he's totally right. If any of us were to seriously change, it could seriously throw off our balance. Like, if Jason suddenly started acting all smart and stuff like the people from the Decathlon team, we would have a serious problem. We wouldn't know how to act around him. Things would get really awkward and we would start falling apart. Thus far in our twisted group relationship, we know how to handle each other.

If something were to change, that could totally destroy everything we have together.

So, for everyone's sake, Jason had better remain incompetent.

-x-

-x-

**Author's Note:** Basically, this chapter explains why Sharpay and Gabriella seem to clash. And I know it's been rather misleading, but she does actually play a larger role in the story a few chapters later. I know that there have been quite a few questions about where the Troy/Gabriella is, and I'm sorry to say that the first couple of chapters are really establishing chapters. I know that it's probably annoying to be reading these chapters with no action happening, but if I had condensed it all, it probably would have ended up being very confusing. At least this way it's semi-clear. Let me know if there are any questions, and constructive criticism is greatly appreciated.

Oh, to anyone celebrating, Happy Easter!


	6. The Detention

**-CHAPTER FIVE-**

**-Tuesday-**

-**The Detention (Day One)-**

_Almost all of Tuesday went by ridiculously fast. I was so busy working on the assorted assignments that teachers think are 'fun' and 'exciting' and 'mentally stimulating' and everything all day that I didn't even notice how quickly the periods were flying by. Normally, this would be a good thing. Unfortunately, the day flying by meant that the detention with Darbus came even quicker. And just like her, it snuck up from behind and scared the crap out of me. _

-x-

-x-

"I don't want to go," I moaned as Troy dragged me towards the theater. "Don't make me go." He sighed, pulling my arm harder. I hate that he's so strong. I barely stood a chance. But I had to try. I wasn't going down without a fight. I was not about to willingly enter a room where I would become a little Darbus-butler thing. I mean, for the next hour or whatever, I was doing her bidding.

I'd never actually had detention with Ms. Darbus before. Somehow, I'd always gotten out of it. But, like with every good high school and every slightly-insane teacher, there are rumors. Mrs. McDonnell makes you scrape the gum off the locker room walls and floors with a toothpick and your bare hands. Mr. Pitman has you copy down the first fifty pages of the dictionary, word for word, on a sheet of paper. Apparently, Ms. Darbus made guys dress up in tights and read Shakespeare while the girls did set painting and other hands-on jobs.

"Come on, Brie," he grunted. It was totally for show. He knows as well as I do that he could drag my dead weight around for hours without getting tired. Honestly, I'm just not that heavy. "I don't want to go either, but she'll just give us another detention for being late. Now _hurry up!"_ I started walking, but apparently, I wasn't walking fast enough for Troy because he grabbed my by the waist and slung me over his shoulder.

"Troy!" I yelped, hitting him on the back with my fist, "Put me down!" He shook his head.

"I thought you should try out a new look. You already had your ass dangling off Chad's shoulder. But I think it would look more chic over my shoulder."

"Ugh!" I slammed my fist on his back once more, realizing that he wasn't about to let me down. He's evil like that. "I thought you wanted to try out rebellion today. Weren't you saying that this morning? Come on; let's not go to detention. That can be our rebellion." He didn't speak. "Well, at least put me down then. This is rather uncomfortable." He chuckled softly, swung me down off of his shoulders, and crouched down.

Gesturing at his back, he said, "Hop on." I crossed my arms over my chest and I shook my head. "Come on, Brie. I can explain one…or two detentions to my dad. I can't explain three." I sighed.

"Fine, I'll climb on. But I refuse to be happy about it." Begrudgingly, I climbed onto his back, gripping onto his shoulders. "Now, we're going to go to detention with Ms. Darbus and you're going to enjoy spending time with me." I rolled my eyes at him as he grabbed my legs and took off down the hallway. I smiled, letting my arms hang loosely around his neck so that my head was comfortably resting in the crook of his neck.

"Maybe we'll be lucky," he said. "Maybe she'll let us make copies together. I heard from Chris Mark that she had him make copies of these random worksheets for the whole hour that he was there. How hard could that be, to punch in a number and then hit start? A monkey could do it." I smiled.

"Then you might have a little trouble."

"Oh, ha-ha. Funny-funny. I'm dumber than a monkey. That is so original." I giggled as his fingers tickled as the back of my calves. I pushed my head farther into his shoulder as I kicked my legs.

"Hey, no fair," I whined, squirming to get my legs away from him. "No fair, that _tickles_, and I'm _stuck._" He only tickled me more, evilly, I might add.

We made it into the theater with – literally – ten seconds to spare. He used his foot to push the door open, and crept inside.

"MR. BOLTON!" I winced when I heard her voice. She has one of those amazingly irritating voices. As soon as you hear it, you want to make it stop. "MISS MONTEZ! YOU'RE LATE!" Troy shook his head as we approached the stage where all the other detention rats were.

"Not really, Ms. Darbus," he argued, carrying me up the stairs. "Technically, we still have six seconds of freedom." She glared at him as he watched the clock. She flicked her beaded scarf over her shoulder and then proceeded to adjust the many rings on her fingers. Troy was still counting down. "Four…three…two…one… Alright, now we're indentured servants." I gently tapped the back of his head and leaned forward to whisper in his ear.

"Shut up, you wise-butt. You're only going to get us in more trouble." He chuckled at me, finally setting me down on the stage floor. I straightened my shirt and then crossed my arms. Ms. Darbus didn't look happy. This was going to be a very long hour of detention.

Ms. Darbus called over the rest of the rats and we were set to work. Troy and I were painting scenery together while everyone else was doing errands for her (making copies and all that good stuff) or cleaning her classroom. Troy was painting the lower part of the building while I stood on the ladder and painted the top. (This is because of his slight fear of ladders. One fell on him once and cut his leg. He's been a little skittish around them ever since.) Ms. Darbus left the theater, claiming to be looking for more paint, but Troy was convinced that she had gone to see the janitor. She told us to behave and keep working.

"Why is this building bright orange?" I asked Troy, trying to stretch to the top of the bell tower with my roller.

"I don't know," he said in a bored tone, painting his twelfth brick. "Why is that tree trunk purple? Why is this sky green? Why does Ms. Darbus have tenure?" I giggled, painting the orange bricks around the outlined bell.

"Do you remember what the name of this play is supposed to be?" He scratched his head, resting his paintbrush against the wall.

"Uh… I think it's like _Stargazer_ or something." I nodded, wishing that the paint we were supposed to be using wasn't so offensive of the human eye. It was beginning to make me slightly dizzy. Dipping my brush into the can again, I reached out for the other side of the bell tower. I watched as the extra drop fell off the tip, almost as if everything was happening in slow motion. I squeezed my eyes shut and winced, knowing exactly where it landed.

"Montez," Troy said softly. I opened my eyes and looked down at him. He was wiping a large drop of orange paint off his cheek. Only it wasn't wiping off; it was just smearing all over his face. A good half of his face was neon colored. "You're supposed to be painting the _scenery_. Not _me_." I shrugged.

"Sorry." I was trying to hide my giggles, but, I mean, the entire left side of his face was this repugnant bright orange and it was just too funny to not laugh. "It was an accident." I looked back at the set, trying to hide my snigger, when suddenly, something wet hit my cheek. I gasped, reaching a hand up to feel it. It was bright orange. Looking down at Troy, he smirked at me.

"Sorry," he mocked. "It was an accident." I glared at him and started down the ladder, bringing the paint can with me. "You can't throw paint at someone and expect them to not retaliate." He shrugged, picking up his own paint can. "And besides, you started it." Hopping down the last step, I stretched out my left arm, stiff from holding on so tightly to the ladder.

"But when I did it, it actually was an accident," I pointed out, watching as his brush swirled in the bright orange goo. "You purposely splattered my face. That's just-" Suddenly, he scooped and a large mass of paint came hurtling at me. I screamed at it landed on the borrow outfit I was wearing. (We'd both borrowed clothes from the nurse to we wouldn't ruin our clothing.) It smeared on my neck and dripped down my stomach.

"You're dead, Bolton, so dead." He smirked, reaching back into his paint can. I grabbed for my can and brush, dipping it in and holding it at my side, letting the paint drip onto the floor. He hurled paint at me again and I swung at him, slapping his face with the bristles. Now his entire face was orange. He swiped his brush at my neck, completely covering it with paint. I squealed at the cold. He continued to flick his brush at me, covering my bare arms and legs with orange specks.

I dodged away from his brush and found four more cans of paint. Grabbing the one containing deep blue paint, I pried the lid open. Carrying it back, I started swinging the entire thing at him, covering his legs with blue paint. He looked like New York Mets logo; he was all orange and blue. He found another can full of green paint and, completely abandoning his brush for the moment, started dipping his hands in it and flinging globs at me as though he was throwing snowballs.

"You jerk," I laughed as a splotch of green landed on my shirt. I found another can of yellow paint, also offensively neon, and grabbed a new brush, throwing paint at him as fast as I could. He was laughing as hard as I was, throwing just as much paint back at me. Eventually we ran out of fresh, uncontaminated paint cans. When he bent down for his discarded paint can, the orange one, I hid behind the trunk of a fake tree. He turned around, looking for me.

"Where'd you go?" he asked, looking for me. I snuck up behind him carefully and grabbed my old orange paint can. Oh, yeah, that's right. I managed to dump half the contents of it over his head before he gasped, whirling around. He looked hilarious with orange paint dripping off of his bangs. It was all soaked into his hair and running over his shoulders. It was awesome.

"You know what you need?" he asked quietly, shivering as the cold paint ran down his back. I backed up slowly, clutching the handle on the paint can.

"A shower?" I suggested coyly. "Before the paint dries, I really think we both should-"

"Nope," he said, grabbing my wrist. "You need a hug." He pulled me closer to his paint covered body.

"No!" I screamed, squirming to get away. Alas, he was stronger than I was and before I knew it, I was being engulfed in a hug. And he made sure to squeeze tight, covering me with paint. When he let go, I stepped back, breathing heavily and trying to catch my breath from the screaming and giggling I had done.

"And, for good measure," he poured his entire can of paint over my head, soaking me thoroughly and leaving a massive puddle on the floor. I held up my arms and looked down at my body.

"I hate you…so much." Raising a hand to my head, I felt the paint seeping into my hair. It had better not stain. People already think I'm weird. The last think I need is to have neon colored hair. "So very much," I added. He grinned at me.

"Want another hug?" he asked, opening his arms. I shoved him backwards hard. He stumbled and slipped on the paint, slamming to the floor and landing in the big puddle. I know, funny. Well, it would have been funnier if his leg hadn't tripped me, making me slip and land right on top of him.

"I would have hugged you," he chuckled. "You didn't have to lay on me." I glared at him and placed my hands on either side of his shoulders. Trying to push myself off him, my hands slipped on the paint and my arms slid out from under me, resulting in me slamming my chin right into Troy's chest.

"Ngh," he grunted, his hand flying to the spot. "That hurt!"

"Sorry," I said, trying again, only to fall once more. He groaned and rolled over, so that I was now on the bottom. Raising a hand, he rubbed the sore spot on his chest.

"You've got a really pointy chin."

"I said that I was sorry," I pointed out, feeling very slippery as I squirmed slightly, my back sliding easily on the stage flooring. Troy looked down at me.

That must have been the point at which my brain and stomach flipped in unison. Because suddenly, while he was holding himself over me, I could think of nothing but how nice it would be to feel those painted orange lips against my own. That's right; I wanted to kiss Troy. Right then and there, I wanted to grab his head, pull it down, and kiss him.

And I had no idea why. It was so insanely random. I have never, _ever,_ had any feelings for Troy. No feelings other than really liking him as a best friend, of course. And that is exactly why I didn't act on that feeling.

I also had the overwhelming desire to know what it was like to be held in his arms. And to know what it was like to receive that one-hundred-watt smile reserved for love interests only. And to know what it was like to hear him whisper, "I love you," right in my ear. And to know what it felt like when he put his jacket over my shoulders on a cold night. And to know what it was like to hold his hand at the movies. Or cuddle on a couch.

In simple terms, I had a sudden desire to know what it was like to be in love with Troy Bolton.

You know, I've never been in love before. I've never really had a crush on anyone before – I mean, unless you count Leonard DiCaprio and Orlando Bloom. But I'm never going to meet them in my lifetime, so I don't count them. (I'm just kidding, Orlando. You can come and find me _anytime you want_.)

Now, please make sure that you're not misinterpreting this. I did not have a sudden epiphany on the theater stage floor where I realized that I was in love with Troy. No. That is not the case at all. I had the sudden desire to _know what it was like_ to love Troy, and have Troy love me back. It was not an, "O-M-G, I love him!" moment. It was a, "O-M-G, I wonder how his lips taste…W-T-F?" moment.

Get it?

Got it?

Good.

-x-

-x-

_Alright, it's Troy's turn again. I know that we've only heard from Troy and Chad and me (but it's my story), but do you really want Jason talking about this? He wasn't even there. And if we have him talk about what he was doing around this time, it would sound like this. _

"_Mom, what's nine hundred seventy divided by five?" (The answer is one hundred ninety four, by the way.)_

_So we're going to hear from Troy again. Unless you would rather read the Jason novel entitled, _I Still Can't Use a Calculator at Age Seventeen.

-Troy's Take-

She'd just dumped a massive thing of paint on my head; what else was I going to do but hug her? It was only fair. 'Don't get mad. Get even.'

"You know what you need?" I asked, shivering as I felt the _freezing cold paint _drip down my back. She backed away from me slowly, clutching the paint can. She looked adorable (Where did that come from?) with the orange highlights in her hair.

"A shower?" she tried, biting her lip. "Before the paint dries, I really think we both should-" I shook my head and grabbed her wrist.

"Nope; you need a hug." She screamed as I pulled her closer, wrapping her in a hug. In fact, she screamed and giggled the whole time. When I let go, she was panting. God, you'd think we'd been, like, making out or something instead of hugging. She was still missing something, though. I smiled.

"And for good measure…" I grabbed my can of orange paint and poured it over her head. It covered her completely and left this huge puddle of the offensive color on the stage. That was probably going to leave a stain. She held up her arms and looked down at herself. I chuckled, looking down at my own clothes. 'That's gonna stain, too,' I thought. I ran a hand through my hair and prayed that the paint would wash out and that I wouldn't have to wear a hat for the rest of my life.

"I hate you…so much," she said, feeling her hair. "So very much." I grinned at her, knowing that she'd had just as much fun as I had.

"Want another hug?" I offered, opening my arms. Instead of accepting the hug like a normal human being or just saying, 'No thanks, I'm good,' she shoved me back, really hard. I stumbled and then I slipped in the massive pulled, slamming, on my back, onto the floor. My leg flew out and hit Gabriella's, making her stumble, trip and fall right on top of me.

Joking, I said, "I would have hugged you." I couldn't suppress my chuckle. "You didn't have to lay on me." She glared at me. It looked pretty sick with the orange dripping around her face. She tried to get up, but slipped again. When she fell her chin banged against my chest.

This was not a pleasurable experience.

My hand flew to the wounded spot as I grunted. "That hurt!"

She mumbled, "Sorry," and tried to get up again. Once again, she fell, wounding my chest even more. I wasn't about to go through this abuse any longer, so I rolled over, accidentally bringing her along. I cautiously raised a hand to my chest and rubbed the spot again.

"You've got a really pointy chin." She blushed, a little. At least I think she did. The paint was kind of covering her cheeks, so I'm not totally sure.

"I said I was sorry." I looked down at her, watching a small paint droplet work its way out of her hair and onto her forehead. Suddenly, she looked like she was really far away. Well, not literally. She looked like she was daydreaming. I took the moment to watch her. We were staring at each other, but she was…I don't really know. She was some place far away. Her hair was a mess, but then again, so was mine. Our clothes were absolutely destroyed, but we didn't care. It's not like we owned them anyway. My eyes traveled her face, and I noticed something I hadn't really before.

She was pretty.

And I don't mean that I thought she was ugly before. But she was seriously pretty. Maybe I should have thanked Briton for making that list. The last thing I need to worry about it what types of creeps are hitting on my best friend.

I started to wonder why it took her being covered in orange paint, for me to see that she was beautiful. She'd always been Brie. It didn't really matter what she looked like. I'd know her since…forever. When we were first becoming friends, I didn't like her because she was cute. I liked her because she was…who she was. I liked _her_. And so we became friends. I guess she'd just grown into a gorgeous girl and I didn't notice. And to tell you the truth, that made me feel like a really big moron.

I reached out and brushed a drop of paint away from her eye. She snapped back to the real world, away from wherever she had been, blinking furiously.

"I didn't want it to go in your eye," I said softly, trying to figure out how to make this position and situation slightly less awkward.

"Thanks," she muttered, brushing a piece of hair out of her face. "Maybe we should-"

"Yeah. That would probab-"

"WHAT HAVE YOU DONE? MY STAGE! YOU LITTLE INGRATES!" Somehow, we were both able to scramble to our feet before Ms. Darbus stormed up onto the stage. I shuddered when I saw how disheveled her clothes were. "I ALLOW YOU TO WORK IN THE CHAPEL OF THE ARTS AND THIS IS WHAT YOU DO?" Gabriella and I exchanged glances, looking around. We'd gotten paint everywhere. And I mean _everywhere_. "YOU DESTROY IT?"

"We're sorry," Gabriella squeaked, twisting her foot at the ankle. Ms. Darbus glared at her.

"I expected more from you two," she said shakily. Wrapping her scarf around her neck again, she turned on her heel. "I'm going to the janitor. You'd better be gone…when I get back." And then she vanished. We looked at each other, covered in paint, our hair dripping onto the floor. And then we proceeded to burst out laughing. I slipped again, landing on the floor, still laughing. Gabriella was doubled over, clutching her stomach.

"God," she breathed, "We should trash the theater more often." I nodded, chuckling still. Finally, when our laughter faded away, we were able to stand. Well, Gabriella was able to help me stand. When we reached the theater doors, we looked back. We were leaving a trail of brownish footprints.

Chuckling, I said, "The janitor can clean it. I'm sure Darbus will keep him company." Gabriella giggled and opened the doors, leaving to blue handprints on the door. I followed her out.

"Troy, we can't take your car home like this. We'll ruin it." I looked down and bit my lip, spitting when I tasted paint. She gave me a weird look but then she giggled.

"What about the showers in the locker room? I can still get into my dad's office and he's got the key." She shrugged.

"Sure, that'll work." I stopped her, reaching out and brushing my thumb over her cheek.

"You're mixing," I told her, showing her the blue paint on my finger. She giggled, brushing her own cheek with her palm and wiping it off on the front of her shirt.

-x-

-x-

"Alright, take this key, but give it back to me. This should unlock the rows of lockers, and this one opens the showers, okay?" She nodded, taking the two keys from me. She looked around the boys' locker room nervously. "Chill," I said, "No one's here. You're not going to get caught." She looked at me, shaking her keys between her fingers.

"Go shower quick, and then come back here, alright?" She nodded. "I'll be in the third row, most likely. Unless you shower faster than I do." She jumped.

"Thanks," she said quickly, taking off. I moved back to the rows of lockers, unlocking the section where my locker was. Sliding the door open, I left it and unlocked the towel cabinet, grabbing one and heading towards the showers. I stripped out of the paint covered clothes, suddenly realizing that I didn't give Gabriella the towel cabinet key. Hopefully, there would be a spare one out somewhere. Stepping to the shower, I turned the nozzle, feeling the cold water splatter against my chest. I adjusted it so that it was slightly warmer and started washing the paint from my arms and legs. I heard steps in the locker room. I pushed aside the small, flimsy curtain and stuck my head out. Gabriella had her hand to her face, shielding the showers from her view.

"I just need I towel," she called out. "I'm going to get one and leave." I grinned, watching her walk as close to the wall as humanly possible without actually touching it.

"They're in the green cabinet," I called after her. I rinsed my hair quickly, scrubbing as hard as I could to get the paint out. There was a weird mix of blue, brown, red, and yellow flowing down the drain, making a brown shade. As I was beginning to rinse off my shoulders, someone knocked on the outside metal wall of the shower.

"Where did you say they were?" she called loudly over the water. I chuckled, sticking my head out again.

"The green cabinet, Montez; don't you listen?" She stuck her tongue out at me, storming around the corner again. I rinsed myself off one last time before shutting off the water and wrapping the towel around my waist. I listened, but I didn't hear Gabriella anymore. I went back to my locker and opened it, pulling out my clean clothes.

It figures that I was just pulling on my boxers when Gabriella reappeared, right?

"Hey, Troy, I need-WHOA!-to _not see that_." I yanked them up. Her back was to me and she was shaking her head frantically, her hands clapped over her eyes. "Holy crap, Troy, I didn't need to see that."

"It's not my fault," I argued. "You shouldn't just walk around the guys' locker room!" She peeked at me, exhaling when she saw that my boxers were on. "Did you even shower yet?" She nodded, hugging herself.

"I jumped in and out really quickly. Being alone in there was really creepy." I rolled my eyes, grabbing my jeans and pulling them on.

"Tell me about it." She crossed her arms and leaned against the wall.

"Is there some place where I can rinse my sneakers so that I'm not getting brown paint all over the floors?" she asked. I looked at her, trying to find my shirt inside my locker.

"Yeah, just use the specially designed Sneaker Washer in the corner," I said sarcastically. She glared at me. "Use the sink," I said, pulling a wrinkled, white, tee shirt out. It wasn't the one I'd worn to school, but it was good enough. I pulled it over my head, slammed my locker shut and left the row. Closing the gate, I locked it and returned the keys to my dad's office. I found Gabriella rinsing the bottom of her sneakers off. Looking down at my own, I held them up.

"Scoot over," I said, moving to stand next to her.

We were standing there for almost five minutes, rinsing off the bottoms of our sneakers before she said, very quietly, "Your shirt is on backwards. And it's inside-out." I looked down to find that it was. Sighing, I shrugged. It's not like I really cared.

"Whatever." We finally finished with our sneakers and left the locker room. Coming into the hallway, I smirked. "Want to go and see if Darbus is with the janitor?" I nodded my head at the theater. Gabriella wrinkled her nose and shook her head frantically.

"Not really; what that woman does with the janitor is strictly between to two of them." I chuckled, nodding my head. She stopped walking. "Oh, that figures. I left my bag in the theater." We turned back.

"So who are you going to the dance-thingy with?" she asked me, picking at a strand of her damp hair. "I mean, I saw a few people asking you today." I shrugged my shoulders and turned to walk backwards so that I was facing her.

"I have no idea. The thing is still almost two weeks away. We only heard about it yesterday. And, I mean, I know Sharpay really, really wants me to ask her. She's only been hinting at it all day. But I really, really don't want to take her…because she's scary. Not to mention that Zeke would probably never speak to me again in my lifetime if I ever even so much as gave Sharpay a stick of gum." She smiled, pulling at the hem of her shirt. "Why?"

"I was just wondering," she shrugged. "I was kind of hoping that you hadn't decided yet. Then at least I wouldn't look like a total loser." I felt my eyebrows furrowing in confusion.

"And what would make you a loser?" I asked. "Who are you going with?" She shrugged.

"I don't exactly have many choices, you know. If I could skip the dance, I probably would. But I have to go and watch out for the four of you guys so you don't end up suspended…or a daddy." I chuckled and rolled my eyes at her. "If you look at the offers I've gotten, it's either Briton, or no one. And that sums up to me going with no one. So it seems, thus far, that I'll be attending alone." She sighed. "That's just sad." I shook my head at her.

"No. You're the total opposite of loser. Now Chad, he's a loser. And you're nothing like Chad." She wrapped her arms around her own torso and shrugged.

"I guess I can't blame them for not asking me," she mused. "Besides the fact that I'm totally off-limits because of the list, I'm not really much to look at. I mean, half the girls around here look like hookers." I wrapped my arm around her body and pulled her into a hug.

"Hey," I shushed her. "What is this? Since when are you not bursting with self-confidence?" She shrugged in my arms and I smiled, gently rubbing her back. "Don't worry about the stupid dance. It's just a stupid dance. It's not prom, or anything. It's stupid. I don't even know why I'm planning on going. We shouldn't go together." She looked up at me, incredulously.

"Oh, yeah, that makes me feel much better. '_Oh, Gabriella, don't feel bad. By the way, we're not going together. Never, ever._' That's so nice of you." I started laughing and pulled her back into the hug.

"That's not what I mean. I meant that we should both not go, and that we should do it together. So, we won't go together." Gabriella rolled her eyes at me and let her head fall against my chest.

"You're an idiot. And you're annoying." And then we were silent.

And we were silent a little more.

Then we were silent a little more.

And finally, we were silent a little more.

And then it was just awkward.

"So…" she said. "Maybe we should go-"

"-and get your bag," I finished, scratching at the back of my neck as she stepped away from me. "Yeah. Let's just go." She nodded.

It was stupid of us. We knew that Ms. Darbus and the janitor were going to be in there. We just didn't know what they were going to be doing.

"Oh, good God," Gabriella squealed, throwing her hands up to shield her eyes. "Oh, my God, it _burns, _Troy. It _burns_." I held up my hand and looked away, my eyes wide. She turned her back to the stage and started jumping up and down. "Forget it, screw my homework. Let's get out of here, now!" Then she ran out without collecting her belongings. But it was too late for me to screw it. I'd already seen something that I was never meant to see. So I smiled bashfully and crept to the front row to grab Gabriella's backpack. And then I ran for my life.

By the time we got to the parking lot, the tag from my shirt scraped against my neck enough to be annoying. So I figured that I would just fix it. "Damn it," I muttered, stripping off my shirt. Gabriella froze, completely still, staring at me.

"What are you doing?" she hissed, looking around frantically. I pulled my shirt back on the right way.

"What do you mean?" I asked, unlocking the car. "I had to fix my shirt." She rolled her eyes at me and got into the car. I sighed. Things weren't usually as awkward with us, but really, what conversation is there after you've just seen a part of your best friend that you were never, ever, meant to see? And after you've walked in on your drama teacher getting it on with the janitor? Getting in the car, I said the only thing I could think of.

"So, Gabriella, now that you've gotten a good look…do you still think that you would need a microscope?"

Yeah, I know. I was yelling at me, too.

-x-

-x-

**Author's Note:** Shame on Troy. He should know better than to ask a question like _that_. But, I suppose, he is only a teen boy. So I guess we can let it slide this time.

On another note, it has been a little while since I've updated, hasn't it? I'm very sorry for that. School is... Well, that sums is up right there. School is. There are about fifty different horrible adjectives that would fit in that blank. Awful, horrible, and suck-y-ish, are the first ones that come to my mind. (Teehee)

It was mentioned to me by different people that Gabriella was a little too harsh in previous chapters. I attempted to tone her down to make her more realistic without ridding her of her snappy humor, which seemed to be going over well, and I'm not sure if I managed to accomplish it.

Questions and comments are welcomed, and constructive criticism is greatly appreciated!


	7. The Incarceration

**-CHAPTER SIX-**

**-Wednesday-**

**-The Incarceration (Day Two)-**

_Can you believe him? Of all the things to say, he asks me _that_ question. He is such an idiot sometimes. But right now, I'm not thinking about that incident. I'm not thinking about that small trail of hair beneath his belly button. I swear that I'm not thinking about that little bit of hair. And I'm certainly not thinking about what the hair leads to, either. Troy is pretty hot, though. I cannot deny that. And let me tell you something: I was _so _wrong about the microscope thing_. I mean_, I'm _so_ not thinking about that…_

-x-

-x-

After 'the incident,' as Troy and I decided to call it, I started thinking. (And _no;_ I was not thinking about _that_.) This is probably what my train of thought most likely was, because I don't remember exactly. But I'll do my best:

_I can't like Troy. He's like my brother. It's almost (almost) incest, and incest is illegal. And it's disgusting. That's probably why it sounds like insects. Oh, my God, was that a spider on the wall? Maybe it's just hormones. I mean, after all, he is gorgeous. Even I can't deny that he's gorgeous, and he's really fit, too. I mean, when he took his shirt off in the parking lot, I almost fell over my own feet. I haven't seen him without a shirt in a while. (_In the locker room, I wasn't exactly looking at his upper body, if you catch my drift_.) That's probably what it is. It's just hormones. Psht…more like _whore_-mones. I'm such a whore. I mean, he's one of my best friends. What kind of person thinks about their best friend in any kind of sexual way? Me, that's who; stupid me. No, this is all stupid _Troy's_ fault for being too stupid _hot_. He should know better. I'm a girl with raging hormones. This is totally his fault. Holy crap, where did that spider go? _

So that's pretty much what I was thinking. And there _was_ a spider on the wall, just in case you were wondering. Yes, I am aware that spiders are arachnids and not insects. But there wasa spider on the wall, and I really, really, hate spiders. And it was big, too.

-x-

-x-

Zeke's phone rang in the middle of science and he, Troy, and I got kicked out, right in the middle of our lab. We were sitting against the wall outside the classroom, waiting for the teacher to come and lecture us about cell phone usage in school.

"Mom," Zeke snarled into the phone, "You can't call me during class. I told you to call during lunch if you really have to call. And if it's that much of an emergency, call the school and they'll let me know. Mom… That's not really my problem is it?" We couldn't really hear what she was saying. It sounded like high-pitched Charlie Brown teacher-talk. You know, the "Mwah-mwah-mwah-mwah," thing, only really squeaky. "I've already got plans," he argued angrily. "Well, find someone else." There was more squeaking. "Hold on," he huffed, placing his hand over the mouthpiece. "My mom needs a sitter for Maggie."

Maggie is Zeke's little sister, by the way. She's only five, and she's ridiculously adorable. She's one of the few Kindergartener's that doesn't think she's 'all that' yet. I mean, a lot of the elementary school kids have suddenly become mini-Sharpays. They're wearing leggings and they're wearing Uggs and they're being over dramatic and it's scary. But Maggie doesn't. She's still cute.

"Can either of you watch her tomorrow night?" Troy shifted uncomfortably beside me.

"The last time I was alone with her, I ended up tied to the leg of a chair with glitter all over my face and my hair pulled into several tiny ponytails." I remember that day. I'd seen him writhing from side to side on the floor through his living room window and I went over to investigate. Apparently, they were supposed to be playing Cops and Robbers. (Maggie does like to make-over people with her Barbie makeup kit, though. You know; the one that comes with the dismembered Barbie head. They tell you that you can put the makeup on the plastic head and that you can make the hair all pretty, and stuff.) I started chuckling and Troy glared at me.

"What?" I giggled. "Blue sparkles are a really good look for you. They really bring out your eyes." I pinched his cheek and he slapped my hand away.

"Stop that," he said, pointing at me. He was trying to be angry, but it wasn't working; I could see the smile pulling at the corners of his lips. Zeke punched his shoulder and he yelped, grabbing it. "What was that for?" Zeke glared at him.

"Be quiet. If you're not going to help me out, keep your mouth shut," he snapped. Looking at me, he said, "Can you watch her, please?" I bit my lip, and he gave me the Puppy Dog eyes.

"I think so. My mom said something about having people over from work, but I don't think that'll be a problem. I'll just eat in my room with Maggie, and my mom can impress her coworkers downstairs in our 'fabulous' living room." Zeke grinned at me.

"I owe you one," he said, turning back to the phone call, "A big one." I turned to Troy.

"Did you know that we got our coffee table in Brazil? Apparently, last summer, we went _air ballooning _around the world."

He snorted. "You did not!" I nodded, scratching my knee.

"I know! But when I got up this morning, my mom started rambling on and on about how we got that in Brazil and how the vase on the fireplace mantle, the one you gave me for my birthday, was from France from the trip we took around the world in a two person plane. Apparently, my mother made herself a pilot." Troy chuckled into his hand.

"She must be really desperate to impress these people, huh?" I nodded, rolling my eyes.

"What's so wrong with getting a coffee table from Pottery Barn and a vase from a friend? People do it all the time! But suddenly, no, we have to have foreign furniture and we have to air balloon and be pilots." He smiled at me.

"Maybe for your next birthday I'll get you a 'pure gold necklace' from 'Egypt.'" I giggled, knocking my shoulder into his.

"I accept nothing less than twenty-four karat jewelry." Now, he laughed at that, but I was serious. I don't normally enjoy wearing jewelry. Unless, of course, you were to count Ring Pops; but they're technically candy and not jewelry. So, if I'm going to get it as a gift and be forced to wear it, it had better be expensive. (I'm kidding. No matter what I'm given, it's the thought that counts.)

"Mom, Gabs can watch her, alright? Maggie loves Gabriella. Mom, I told you; I have plans. Gabriella is going to watch her." Zeke snapped the phone shut and slipped it into his pocket. "God, my mom is being so annoying. The party she's catering needed, like, five-hundred more truffles or crepes or whatever, so she wanted me to watch Maggie. But I've got a date tonight." Troy's mouth fell open and he hit Zeke's arm.

"Hey, why did I not know about this? Who are you going out with?" Zeke rubbed his arm, trying to get around the question.

"Yeah," I prodded, "Who?" Zeke shrugged awkwardly. "Zeke, who is it?" He shrugged again.

"Man, just tell us who it is!"

"Alright!" he exclaimed. "God, you two are so annoying." Troy and I exchanged glances. We only asked four times. If we really wanted to be annoying, we would have asked nonstop. "I have a date with this girl from my Home Economics class; Kristen."

"Ooh, Zeke's got a date with a girl!" He glared at me. "Easy does it, easy does it. I've actually met Kristen before and she's pretty nice. Don't take her somewhere with seafood though. I'm pretty sure she's allergic to shellfish." Zeke nodded, rubbing his forehead.

"I'll remember that."

"Hey, since when are you not mourning your lack-of-date with Sharpay? You haven't been out on a date in a really long time." Zeke shrugged awkwardly.

"It wasn't really my choice. She asked me, and when I didn't say no right away, she took it as a yes. I couldn't say no at that point." I smiled and patted his knee.

"You're a good guy. Most guys would have just told her to buzz off."

"Yeah, but-"

The classroom door was yanked open and Mrs. Cavalari stepped out, scowling at us with her arms crossed over her chest. I gulped; she looked seriously pissed.

-x-

-x-

I love being smart. The teachers are much more lenient when you're the best student in the class. I managed to get Troy and myself out of another day of detention (seeing as we already had a second day after school) and Zeke out of losing his cell phone for the remainder of the school year and a day of detention. But, being the stupid idiot that he is, he accidentally tripped Ms. Darbus in the hallway and now has to come to drama detention with Troy and I today.

At lunch, Chad and Jason started grumbling about how lucky Troy and Zeke were to be getting out of the emergency practice that Coach Bolton (yes, Troy's dad) had scheduled for after-school today.

Troy and Zeke responded with a strong, "Yeah, because detention with Ms. Darbus is so much better," to which I added, "Especially after you have gotten paint all over her 'chapel of the arts.'" After that comment, Troy and I couldn't _not_ laugh and we burst out laughing.

"What is with you two?" Chad asked, shaking his small carton of YooHoo. The smile on my face was insanely big and my jaw was starting to hurt from laughing.

"Yesterday, in detention, we were supposed to be painting sets. And we sort of got distracted and started drenching each other in paint. And we kind of wrecked the set." Chad was staring at me and Troy.

"You didn't," he said, a small smirk appearing on his lips. We nodded. "You couldn't have." He chuckled, shaking his head, "She would have killed you." Troy placed his arm around my shoulder and pulled me closer, tousling my hair with his hand.

"We did." The small bit of chocolate milk he'd managed to drink came squirting out of his nose and Jason started choking on whatever the mush on his lunch tray was.

"Seriously?" We nodded again. "That's awesome. Man, I wish I would have been there." Troy shook his head, taking a sip of his Dr. Pepper.

"The look on her face was mad scary," he chuckled, watching as Zeke tossed Chad a napkin. "I thought she was going to throw something at me." I snickered.

"I thought she was going to hit you."

-x-

-x-

"Is Ms. Darbus crazy? Like, is she totally and completely mentally unstable?" Zeke panted, slamming the pile of tiles down on the table. "She had me take up all the tiles on the dressing room floors. And I don't even think that there was a reason for it." Troy and I looked up from the stage floor. We'd been scraping paint off the wood for the past half-hour.

"Shut up, man," Troy panted back, dropping his chisel on the ground. Ms. Darbus barked at him from the audience to keep going. He sighed, picking up the tool again.

"I thought that this stuff was supposed to be washable," I grumbled, watching the muscles in Troy's arm as he swiped the chisel across the floor. "We're just going to end up ruining the finish on the floor this way. Why don't we just use water and then wipe it up, or something?" Troy grunted as Zeke dropped to the floor beside us.

"Because that would be too easy, that's why. She has to make sure that our punishment is border-line cruel and unusual. And she's probably going to have us refinish the floor another day." I groaned as my sweaty hand slipped on the chisel and I scraped my palm.

"Damn it," I hissed, holding my hand. The skin was torn and I could see small droplets of blood.

"God, you're a mess, aren't you?" Troy breathed, grabbing a scrap of material off the floor. He dabbed at the blood before wrapping the cloth around my hand. "First the ankle, now the hand?" He tied a quick knot. "Get a band-aid later." Zeke chuckled.

"You know, people usually tie things around wounds like that when they can't get band-aids because they're trapped in a cave or they're being held hostage, not just because they're too lazy." Troy shrugged, grabbing his chisel again.

"What ever works."

"Mr. Baylor, you're here to work, not converse! Pick up a tool and get to work!" Zeke sighed, wincing at her words. He grabbed a chisel from the toolbox and started jamming it against the paint. I frowned. This was not how a chisel was meant to be used, scraping paint off a floor. And that bothered me.

My dad and my brother had been big tool people. They used to build things all the time. When they still lived with us, Aaron spent a lot of his free time working in the garage with my dad, building all sorts of things with the spare wood we had. I have a box in my room that I keep all my Scholastic ribbons in; Aaron made it for me for my sixth birthday.

He was a good brother. Really he was. But he left, which kind of made him a suck-y brother. We still keep in contact, of course, with occasional e-mails and what not. There was a phone call on my birthday and Christmas last year. We used to be really close. Now we barely talk.

I remember one time when I had a fight with Troy and Chad and Jason and Zeke. We were really little and they wouldn't play tea party with me. I'd always had a soft spot in my heart for tea party. I think it was because my mom would give me orange soda as tea. Yum. But anyway, they wouldn't play and we fought, so they 'left.' (We were little and they couldn't really leave, so they hid in my basement and threw balled up tissues at anyone who went downstairs.) Our fight was rather primitive. They called tea parties stupid and I called race cars stupid and they called tea stupid and I called them stupid and they stole the tissue box and I yelled at them and they ran into the basement and I ran upstairs.

I wouldn't really let anyone see it, but I was crying. So then I tried to play with my teddy bear, but I couldn't get him to take the mini-chocolate-chip cookie off the plate. The chocolate made him dirty anyway. Aaron came in and saw me and said he'd play with me. We drank 'tea' and ate the cookies. He even pretended to add sugar and milk to his second cup, which had mysteriously turned into 'coffee' and was no longer 'tea.'

In other words, he always used to be there for me. He's the reason I'm so attached to Troy and Chad and Zeke and Jason. When Aaron and my dad left, I needed someone to be there. They just sort of stepped up. It's amazing how well they got me through Aaron leaving.

That was, like, the biggest girly moment ever.

-x-

-x-

_Zeke and I agree that it would be an excellent idea if he had a little input. In other words, Chad's got me in a headlock, threatening me with several Wet Willies unless we hear "someone else's opinions other than" mine._

-Zeke's Take-

I couldn't believe how bad the dressing rooms smelt in the theater. The guys' dressing room was the worst though. Although, Ryan's specified chair smelt like perfume, and so did his hats. When I went into in girls' dressing room to take up the weird fuchsia tiles, I discovered that, not only did Sharpay have her own monogrammed chair, but she had her own room. It was insane.

But I have this weird feeling that you don't really care about Sharpay's dressing room and what it looked like. Basically, I finished pulling up the tiles as quickly as I could, and then I carried the massive pile out towards Troy and Gabriella. They were busy scraping paint off of the floors using chisels and getting screamed at by a rather resentful Ms. Darbus.

Lugging the massive pile of tiles out onto the stage, I found the box that Ms. Darbus had given me and I started stacking them inside. Glancing over, I saw Troy and Gabriella talking as they scrapped paint off of the floor. Quickly stuffing the rest of the tiles messily into the box, I snapped the cover on and carried it towards them.

Slamming the tiles down on a table, I asked, "Is Ms. Darbus crazy? Like, is she totally and completely mentally unstable? She had me take up all the tiles on the dressing room floors. And I don't even think that there was a reason for it." Luckily, though, the tiles had never really been secured properly and they came up really easily.

"Shut up, man," Troy said before dropping his chisel on the ground, only to have Ms. Darbus order him back to work.

"I thought that this stuff was supposed to be washable," Gabriella complained. "We're just going to end up ruining the finish on the floor this way. Why don't we just use water and then wipe it up, or something?" I sat down next to them, looking through the toolbox that they had for another chisel so that I could help them a little.

"Because that would be too easy, that's why." Troy said back to her. "She has to make sure that our punishment is border-line cruel and unusual. And she's probably going to have up refinish the floor another day." I sorted through screwdrivers and hammers, placing them beside the box. Suddenly, Gabriella cursed and I looked up to see that she'd slipped and that her hand had gotten cut by the sharp end. Troy grabbed a scrap of material off the floor and wrapped it around her hand. He's been watching way too much television lately.

I chuckled, "You know, people usually tie things around wounds like that when they can't get band-aids because they're trapped in a cave or they're being held hostage, not just because they're too lazy." Gabriella giggled a little, but Troy just shrugged at me, smiling slightly.

"What ever works."

"Mr. Baylor, you're here to work, not converse. Pick up a tool and get to work!" I cringed slightly and then continued to search through the toolbox for a chisel. Her voice is awful. It's definitely worse than nails scraping over a chalkboard. It's worse than plastic utensils scraping over a Styrofoam dish, too. I really hate that sound. I really hate Styrofoam, too. I mean, serving and awesome meal on one of those cheap plates takes away from the presentation.

Once I finally found a chisel, I started on the edge of the paint. Stopping suddenly, I looked down at my palm.

"Hey," I said softly. Troy and Gabriella looked at me, their chisels stilling against the dried puddle. "Do you remember that time when we were in your garage and Chad feel of the ladder and cut his hand on a chisel?" Gabriella's eyebrows furrowed, but moments later her eyes widened.

"We were looking for the weird gopher sprinkler head so that those kids next door could play in the water. Chad climbed up the ladder to check in the boxes." Troy suddenly sat up straighter.

"Oh, yeah! The ladder was sitting crooked, or something, and he fell off. Didn't he land on the chisel?" Gabriella nodded, turning the chisel she held over in her hand.

"Aaron and my dad used to leave their tools out all the time. My mom was always yelling at them to just put stuff away for once; she knew that someone was going to get hurt eventually." I reached out to touch her arm. She'd taken her brother leaving almost harder than she took her father leaving. Gabriella and Aaron had been really close to each other. When her dad left, she felt sad that he and her mother couldn't get along as well anymore, but when Aaron left she basically considered it abandonment, because he could have stayed. He just chose not to.

"Have you spoken to him lately?" Troy asked tentatively. Gabriella shook her head, beginning to scrape at the pain again. "His twenty-first birthday is coming up, isn't it?" She nodded. "Do you know if you and your mom are going to go visit him?" She shook her head.

"My mom hasn't said anything, but I'm just assuming that we're not going to. He hasn't e-mailed me back in a while now. He's probably," she blinked, "just busy." She looked like she was about to cry. And Gabriella doesn't cry, ever. Troy and I exchanged nervous glances.

"What about your dad?" I asked, hoping that he might have called. He and Gabriella's mom still kept in contact, as far as I knew. Gabriella sighed softly, pushing at the edge of the solid puddle with her chisel.

"My mom said that he called a few days ago, but I was out. I don't know. Maybe she said it to make me feel better, maybe he really called." Pulling up a large chunk of the paint, she tossed it into the old spackle bucket that Ms. Darbus had borrowed from the janitors. "You know, sometimes I just wish that I didn't care so much." Another hack at the puddle. "If it didn't bother me that he didn't want to talk to me, then it wouldn't hurt so much when he calls the day after my birthday to congratulate me." I took the tool out of her hand and pulled her into a hug.

"Hey, you know that your dad cares about you. You're his little girl. You're his little princess, Gabs." She nodded but remained silent.

"Brie, what dad do you know that doesn't have a soft spot in their heart for their little baby girl?" She shook her head and squeaked out a soft, 'None.' "Exactly," Troy continued. "It's just a little harder for your dad. He's not around and he can't be the best dad he can be to you." She shook her head again, this time pulling away from me.

"No, you guys don't have to make excuses for him. He's the one who left." I reached out and tugged gently on a strand of her hair.

"Then it's his loss, Gabs."

"Definitely his loss, Brie."

-x-

-x-

_Aw, see? They can be really sweet when they want to be. I knew that I was being such a big baby by getting all upset about my dad, right in front of Ms. Darbus, but the tools and the story and my mom telling me about the phone call just brought back all the memories of when my dad left. It's really hard to lose a parent they way I did. He's not really gone, and he could be here if he wanted to. He doesn't have to be out of the state, and he could come visit if he wanted to. Apparently, he doesn't. _

_But anyway, detention went by pretty quickly after that. Troy and Zeke kept joking around and trying to make me feel better while we finished getting the paint up off of the floor. The emergency practice that Troy's dad had ordered had just ended so all five of us were able to go home. It was nice to finally get away from Darbus. I was also glad to have an excuse to get away from my mother's snobby work friends. Maggie would keep me busy. _

-My (Gabriella's) Take-

When I stepped through my front door, I immediately knew that something really weird was going on. My mother was standing on our coffee table and vacuuming the ceiling. Let's break down that sentence.

My mom was standing on the coffee table.

We are talking about the woman who gave me a twenty minute lecture for leaving a Reese's Peanut Butter Cup wrapper on the couch because she was afraid that the grease from the little brown piece was going to stain her couch. My mother has OCD when it comes to protecting her furniture. So what the _hell_ is she doing standing on top of our coffee table – our 'Brazilian' coffee table, mind you?

My mother was vacuuming the ceiling.

Now, believe me, I understand that she has this anal retentiveness that makes her need to clean things. I've seen her wash the curtains twice in the same week. But never, not once, have I seen her standing on a table and vacuuming the ceiling. Until today, that is. My mother obviously wants to impress these people. I can tell that from her lying about the origins of all of our belongings. I'll say that we have a couch from Thailand, and a vase from France. But I draw the line at helping her vacuuming the ceiling.

"Mom, I'm home." No response.

"Mom." Nothing.

"Mom!" Zilch. Nada.

"MOM."

"Don't yell at me, Gabriella," she said, turning the vacuum cleaner off and climbing carefully off the table. I had to roll my eyes at that one. "Now, go and do me a favor. All of your clothes are hanging up in the washroom and I want you to carry them upstairs and hang them up." Putting my bag down on the floor, I walked slowly towards the basement.

"My day was good, too, thanks for asking. How was your day? Really? Wow." I muttered bitterly to myself for a few moments before stalking down the steps and into the basement. When I passed her on the way up to my room, she was fluffing the pillows on the loveseat.

"Oh, mija!" she called after me. "Why do I keep finding boxer shorts in the wash?" I rolled my eyes and didn't answer her. She should be used to finding boxers mixed in with our clothes. Troy and Chad and Zeke and Jason have been leaving their spare clothes here for years. It's not uncommon for them to slip into the hamper.

I spent the next hour hiding in my room and rearranging my clothes in my closet, listening to my mother bumping and thumping downstairs as she tried to reorganize the furniture. I knew I had to come out at some point. It was almost five o'clock and Zeke said he was going to drop Maggie off around quarter after. Reluctantly, I left the safe-haven that was my room and went to find my mother.

"Mom?" I called.

"I'm in the kitchen, Gabi." I walked in slowly, finding her putting the final touches on some sort of chicken dish. It smelled weird, but I assumed that it was because it hadn't been cooked yet.

"Mom, I know you really wanted me to meet your coworkers and stuff, but I promised Zeke that I would baby-sit for Maggie tonight. So, would it be okay if Maggie and I just ate upstairs?" I really didn't want to spend my night eating dinner with adults who thought that I was annoying because I didn't work from nine to five.

"Oh, honey, you know that I love Maggie…" I sensed a 'but' coming. "But, I invited their children, too. They have a son and a daughter. I'm pretty sure that they are just about your age." Instant panic settled into my stomach. People my age, in my house, who I didn't know; there was no way that it could end well. My mind was whirling and the room started to spin slightly. I gripped onto the edge of the island in the kitchen. Operation Keep Gabriella Sane (KGS) was suddenly underway.

"But Troy was going to come over and help me watch after Maggie." It was a complete lie. But I was going to need backup if I was going to have two random kids at my house.

"Well, I suppose you could just invite Troy to dinner," she said slowly. _Yes, yes,_ I urged silently. "What time is Zeke going to be dropping Maggie off?" I wrapped my arms around my body, rocking from the heel to the ball of my foot.

"He said he would bring her by around quarter after five." She nodded at me, continuing the bustle around the kitchen. "She won't be any trouble, mom. Troy and I will keep her under control." She was frowning slightly as she peeked into the oven, and I bit my lip.

"Well, I guess it would be alright. You three would eat together with us, and then the five of you can go out into the backyard or up to your room and entertain each other." I nodded slowly, waiting for the final verdict. "It's fine. Now go and put on the outfit on my bed. I picked it up for you at the mall the other day." My shoulders slumped.

"You got me an outfit?" I asked tentatively. She waved her hand at me and let out a 'tut-tut.'

"It's adorable." That's what I was afraid of.

-x-

-x-

I was wearing a skirt, with leggings. I was standing my room, in front of the mirror, spinning around in half-circles, trying to understand how it was possible that I had agreed to wear it. It was a black skirt, and the leggings were this hideously offensive aqua color and hurt your eyes if you stared at it for too long. I groaned slightly and tugged at the neckline of the shirt I'd been forced into wearing. The stitching was irritating my collarbone and there was a small welt from where my nail scraped my skin.

"You really should lock this door. I mean – whoa. You're…wearing a skirt…" I whirled around to find Troy holding onto the handle of my balcony doors and gaping at me. "Uh…why are you wearing a skirt…?" I rolled my eyes as he stepped inside and kicked the door shut behind him. I grabbed my robe off of my bed and covered my outfit before he could find anything else to make fun of me about. "Oh, I see we're on mom-alert. Is she freaking out over these people?" I turned back the mirror and starting attempting to fix my hair.

"She's beyond freaking out, okay? She was vacuuming the ceiling in the living room when I got home. She didn't even say hello to me. She just ordered me to bring my clean clothes upstairs from in the laundry room." He snorted and took a seat at my desk, shaking the mouse and bringing the screen of my computer to life.

"That sucks. I wonder how awful these people are, especially if your mom's completely reinventing her life just to impress them. How are you going to survive tonight?" I grabbed for my brush and started running it through my twisted hair, pulling at the knots.

"I have no idea, but that's exactly why you're here." He turned away from Minesweeper and reclined in the chair as he placed his hands behind the back of his head. "When my mom told me that her coworkers have two children that are about my age, I panicked. And then I told her that I was baby-sitting for Maggie tonight, and that you were going to be helping me." He sat up straight.

"Wait, wait…"

"Please?" I begged, pouting slightly. "Pretty please, Troy? You can't leave me alone with these people." He bit his lip. He was about to say no. "My mom's making brownies for dessert," I tried. "You know; the fudge ones. They're your favorite." He sighed and slumped down in the chair. "She said that she might put some nuts in, just for you." He caved.

"You're not allowed to play the brownie card anymore after this, alright? Just because your mom makes awesomely delicious brownies, it doesn't give you the right to manipulate me like this." I pouted more. "Alright, alright, pull in the lip. I'll stay." Score: Montez 1, Bolton 0.

"Thank you, thank you, and thank you," I exclaimed. "You promise, that not matter what, you'll stay the whole time?" He nodded.

"Yeah, I swear." Cue doorbell. _Ding-dong_. What _amazing_ timing! "Okay, can you please go and get that? It's definitely going to be Zeke and Maggie. Just bring Maggie straight up here. My mother can fuss over her later." He shrugged. I could hear him downstairs as a finished yanking the knots from my hair.

"Dude, why does she have finger-paints? And why is there glitter? Oh no, there will be no glitter finger-painting. None whatsoever." I grinned, putting the brush down and meeting the pair at the top of the stairs. Maggie was giggling, pressing the capped glitter pen against Troy's cheek. He was attempting to grab it from her, but she kept moving it out of his reach.

"Maggie, what do you think you're doing? You can't color Troy's face." She pouted and I grinned, gently poking her stomach. "You have to wait until company comes and then everybody can see your artwork." Troy smiled falsely and leaned towards my ear.

"You're pushing it. I don't live _that_ far away, and I'm sure that if I left now and came back later, your mother would be more than happy to give me one of the brownies that I'm suddenly not so sure actually exists." I smiled weakly and took Maggie out of his arms. She gurgled a bit and called out for ''tatoes.'

"Okay, okay, I'll play nice." He nodded, glancing down the stairs as we returned to my room. I set Maggie up with her coloring books, careful to keep the finger-paint and glitter out of her reach. She was managing the principle of coloring inside the lines very well.

"Come," Maggie said, holding out a tickle-me-pink crayon to Troy. "Help." He sighed and crouched beside her, taking the crayon out of her hand.

"Here, let Brie have the pink. I'll use blue or green." Maggie shook her head.

"Pink."

"Blue."

"Pink!"

"Blue!"

"Troy, you're yelling at a five year old!" He blushed and started coloring the tree branches with the pink crayon. I know; he's so manly, right? So there we were, innocently sitting in my room with Maggie, coloring in the coloring book. We were all laughing and giggling and tickling Maggie and we were having a good time. Troy was having some trouble staying inside the lines as he colored the tree roots.

"It's not my fault!" he argued. "They're too narrow and the crayon is too fat!"

And then the doorbell rang. I bit my lip and looked over at Troy. He was still coloring.

Then it got really bad. My mom called us.

"Honey, come on downstairs. The Evans's are here."

Aw, shit. "The Evans's?"

"I'm out of here."

"YOU SWORE."

"Damn…"

-x-

-x-

**Author's Note:** Happy May 1st! I know that I'm a horrible person. I haven't updated in nearly a month. But, I'm glad to say, that I'm almost done with the next chapter. Hopefully, I'll finish before June 1st.

I also wanted to thank everyone who has been reading for their feedback! Honestly, readers are the best! I've been meaning to do this since the beginning, but every time I get around to putting up the next chapter, I'm so excited to post the next installment that I completely forget. Then, the next day, I have to hit myself in the forehead for forgetting. Oi.

I hope that this chapter lived up to expectations, although it really is more of a lead into the next chapter. Doesn't everyone love a little Clash of the Females between Gabriella and Sharpay?

Also, for anyone who it wasn't clear to, the Day Two in parentheses refers to the second day of Troy and Gabriella's detention/incarceration.

Questions and comments are welcomed, and constructive criticism is greatly appreciated!


	8. The Dinner Guests

**-CHAPTER SEVEN-**

**-****Wednesday-**

**-The Dinner Guests (Let's Eat)-**

_So…yeah. My mother had done the unspeakable. She had purposely invited both Sharpay and Ryan Evans into my household, without warning me, and she'd stuck me in a skirt and leggings at the same time. At the time, I had no preplanned digs to throw at Sharpay, ones subtle enough to go unnoticed by the parental units yet obvious enough that she would understand that I was insulting her. It wasn't fair. And Troy wasn't all too happy about it, either. He was expecting something more along the lines of dinner with some random bratty kids, ending with awesome homemade brownies. He would probably still get the brownies, but they would be accompanied by Sharpay drooling over him. _

-x-

-x-

"She didn't really say the Evans's, did she?" Troy asked, dropping his pink crayon. "I mean, she can't possibly mean that Sharpay and Ryan and their parents are here. It's not possible." I touched my hair with my hands, gripping it tightly and attempting to rip chunks out of my head.

"My mom just said that the Evans family arrived on our doorstep. But I didn't hear her." I leaned over Maggie and touched my nose to Troy's. "Tell me she didn't just say that." He didn't respond, and I reached out to grab his shirt color, pulling him closer to me. "Tell me!" He shrugged weakly. "No, it's not them. Sharpay Evans is not standing in my foyer! She's just not!" Troy gently removed my hands from his shirt and backed me up.

"Gabriella, are you coming down? Don't be rude, we have company!" I groaned, and Maggie threw a brown crayon at my wall. Troy stood up slowly, uncurling Maggie's first from around a large group of crayons.

"I think we should probably go downstairs before your mother pops a blood vessel." He scooped Maggie up off of the ground and gently tickled her stomach. I mumbled bitterly to myself and crossed my arms. "Oh, come on. I'll be right there with you. Just think of it this way: if you go down, you can take me down with you." I weighed the options. Stake out in my room and eat Maggie's crayons or go downstairs with Troy and watch Sharpay's horns grow out of her head.

"Fine, but I'm holding you to that. You're _not_ going to hang me out to dry by using Maggie as an excuse." He smirked at me, gently bouncing the little girl in his arms as she giggled.

"You saw that one coming, huh?" I nodded. "Well, come on. Let's go. Take off the robe." I frowned.

"Can't I keep it on?"

"No."

"Meanie," I muttered, unknotting the belt around my waist. Throwing the robe onto the floor, I staring playing with my fingers and began tapping my foot, waiting. I knew that his comment was coming. It was either going to be something about how awful I looked or how awkward I looked or something.

"Holy shit, Montez, you've got boobs."

"_Troy!_ Could you possibly _be_ any more of a jerk?"

"Well, you do! You've got boobs!"

"Shut up!"

"_Gabriella, _will you _please_ come down and say hello to company?" my mother called again. I could hear the frustration building in her voice and I knew that she wasn't playing around anymore.

"We're coming, mom." Turning back to Troy, I crossed my arms over my chest. "Besides the fact that your perverted mind has noticed my breasts, which all women have, by the way, how do I look? I'm not going downstairs and making a fool out of myself in front of Sharpay and Ryan." He used his free hand to grab the back of his neck.

"You look fine." My mouth fell open. Fine, I looked fine? I looked fine, as in 'I looked not great but good enough,' fine? You never, _ever_, tell a girl that she looks simply fine when she's freaking out. Even I know that.

"I look _fine?_" I asked incredulously. "Fine means that I look slightly better than horrible. I don't look great, but I don't quite get a 'crappy' rating. I probably look like one of those really butch girls that are freakishly wide and try to squeeze themselves into a pair of leggings and a tight shirt and just end up looking horrible. I am changing right now. I need to find my sweatpants. There is no way that I'm letting Sharpay see me like this. I look like a moron and she'll never let me forget it. God, I hate my mother for doing this to me!" I stormed past Troy and into my closet, leafing through the hangers for a sweatshirt. She was not getting away with this. She was trying to glam me up to look like a "real girl" show she could show off her daughter to her coworkers.

"You're not allowed to change, Brie," Troy said, grabbing my arm with his free hand. "I won't let you. And your mom will break down crying if we don't go downstairs now." He dragged me out of my room and into the hallway. "Let's go. Down the stairs." I glared playfully at him and poked his back when he moved past me.

"Ah, there she is," I heard my mother joke lightly, her heels clicking as she stepped towards the stairs. Troy put Maggie down on the ground, chuckling as she gripped onto his leg tightly. Sharpay was standing near the front door with her arms crossed, tapping her foot as she glared at me. Ryan was near their parents, closer to the living room.

"Oh, good God," I heard Troy whisper in my ear.

"Gabriella, honey, you must know the Evans's children, Sharpay and Ryan, from school." I forced a smile and nodded, glancing between Ryan and his sister. He was standing awkwardly, his light purple shirt tucked in to his black dress pants making his appearance even more awkward looking. Sharpay was wearing a dress so short that I swore if she took a step forward her crotch would stick out, and she had on these totally heinous knee-high pink boots. Now that she'd spotted Troy behind me, I was willing to bet that the dress's length wouldn't be a problem for her.

"We see each other around school all the time," I said with fake enthusiasm. Ryan nodded at my mother slowly, the sequined hat on his head not moving. If only she knew more about our encounters, she never would have invited the spawn of the devil and her family into the house. I was going to have to scrub the foyer to get rid of all their nasty germs.

"Yes, well, I know their mother from work. We're both on the same floor, and we started talking the other day." As Mr. Evans reached over and straightened the purple fedora, ignoring the look of protest on Ryan's face, Mrs. Evans smiled at me.

"Yes," she said. "It was getting terribly lonely at home all day, what with Sharpay and Ryan off a school and their father at work. I figured I might as well do something to busy myself. After all," she joked, "One can only do so much yoga!" Ryan chuckled at his mother as I forced a small chortle. Troy smiled politely from beside me, and my mother became hysterical, touching Mrs. Evans's arm.

"How about we all head into the living room?" my mother suggested. "I have some hors d'oeuvres out on the coffee table that we can snack on before dinner. If you kids don't want anything right now, you're welcome to hang out in the backyard." Sharpay and Ryan's parents nodded earnestly, already beginning to make small talk with my mother as she led them into the living room, abandoning Troy and me with Sharpay and Ryan, neither of which appeared pleased to be in our company.

Sharpay started tapping her foot, glaring at me. "Whose kid is that?" she demanded, pointing at Maggie. "Is she one of your illegitimate children, Gabriella?" My jaw tightened and I reached down to scoop Maggie up off of the floor. Yes, Sharpay; at the age of twelve, I went out and had sex, got myself pregnant, and have been harboring a secret child ever since. How _ever _did you figure it out?

"She's Zeke's little sister," I snapped. "I promised that I'd baby-sit while he was out." Maggie squealed at the mention of her brother's name and grabbed tightly onto my nose. "Maggie," I scolded softly, "Maggie, let go of my nose." Troy chuckled and attempted to pry her small fingers away from my face. Maggie frowned again and leaned towards me.

"Isn't she the girl that Zee likes?" she whispered. "He made me see her music play. She was loud. She maked my ears hurt." Troy smiled at her. "But her dress was pretty. It was green. I like green."

"Oh, Troy," Sharpay cooed suddenly, "You're so _good_ with children." I saw Ryan roll his eyes slightly from behind her as he crossed his arms over his chest tightly. Troy smiled and pulled Maggie out of my arms carefully, his eyes darting between me and Sharpay.

"Thanks," he said awkwardly, suddenly turning towards the kitchen. "I'm going to go into the kitchen and get some snacks or something. I think that Maggie's a getting a little hungry, aren't you?" Maggie's eyes were glued to Sharpay's face and she didn't answer Troy when he spoke. "I guess she's a little shy in front of company, too, huh?" Maggie frowned and shook her head.

"I just don't like _her_," she announced, pointing in Sharpay's direction. "She's making meanie faces at Gabi-ella." I swear, I almost keeled over and died at the look on Sharpay's face. It was all too perfect. Her 'I – am – in – love – with – Troy – at – the – moment – so – if – you – wouldn't – mind – buzzing – off' smile just sort of fell off of her face and she gasped rather melodramatically. And when Troy didn't say anything about it and just excused himself to the kitchen, she nearly fell over in her Gucci boots.

Although, in his defense, Troy did mutter a barely heard, "Oh, there's gonna be some meanie expressions going around tonight, alright," on his way out of the foyer. I chuckled lightly before following behind him, not actually bothering to invite Sharpay or Ryan to follow me. Unfortunately, Sharpay wasn't about to let Troy out of her sight that quickly, and she practically raced me into the kitchen. I swear; running in boots that high should be an Olympic sport. It cannot possibly be as easy as she makes it look.

Shoving her way into the kitchen, she plopped down into one of the chairs at the island and grinned at Troy, watching as he sat Maggie on the edge of the counter. Ryan walked in slowly, keeping his back against the wall and nearly slamming his head into the phone as she slid back into the corner. Crossing my arms, I couldn't help glaring at her. She's one of those people that you just want to glare at. It feels like she hasn't been glared at enough in live, and I wanted to make up for her entire eighteen years of existence.

"You know, Troy, I bet you would make a great father. Imagine if we had children, Troy!" His eyes widened. Mine narrowed. "Well, actually, we'd have to adopt, because if I'm going to be on Broadway – and I _am_ going to be on Broadway – then I'm not about to screw up my figure. But we'd adopt only the most beautiful orphans because then it'd be like we had the children anyway. Oh my God," she exclaimed, clapping her hands together rapidly, "We can adopt, like, seven kids from Africa and then it'll be like the Evans-Bolton clan instead of the Jolie-Pitt clan. I could take Angelina on any day." Reaching out, she ran her hands through his hair.

She ran _her_ hands through _his_ hair. She effing touched his hair. A lot. Every freaking finger was twisted around strands of his hair. And in _my_ kitchen. And he didn't even try to take them out. Okay, yes, he was holding Maggie with both hands to make sure that she didn't fall off the counter or anything, but _still_.

"You might need to get a haircut though. Brad's always on top of his game." You know, it's always awkward to watch someone flirting with someone else when it's one-sided. But it's even more awkward when one person is just sitting with their hands shoved into someone else's hair… She was just sitting there with her hands on top of his head. And at that point she had stopped talking. It was very, very, quiet. The silence was starting to become routine.

"Touching hair!" Maggie exclaimed suddenly, throwing out her small hands – still slightly covered in crayon residue – and wrapping them around thick sections of Sharpay's blonde extensions. Sharpay shrieked, grabbing harshly at the tiny arms, finally letting go of Troy's head. It was amusing, too, until she started yanking on Maggie.

"Whoa, let go of her." Ryan stepped forward and slapped at his sister's hands. "Sharpay, let go of the five year old little girl! Sharpay, for the love of God, it is fake hair! Let her go!" We finally got Sharpay to let go of Maggie, and then we got her to release her death grip on the extensions, and Troy set her on the ground, giving her a plastic cup with Elmo on it to distract her.

"That's cute, Gabriella," Sharpay sneered, rubbing two spots on the top of her head in slow circles. If she got two big bumps in those spots, it would have looked like devil horns. Fitting, I know. Gesturing at the cup, she laughed again and fake-pouted. "Do you still wear feety pajamas, too? Do you sleep with a night light?" I bit my tongue. I should have let her take a right hook to the jaw. It would have been quick; she wouldn't have seen it coming. Wah-bam. Right in the jaw. But I just stood there, and took it like a man. Uh… like a girl, rather.

Ryan smiled at me, "I still have a Spiderman mug at home. I use it for tea when I'm sick. It's like a comfort object." Troy was just kind of staring at him, but I smiled and nodded my head. Even if I thought it was a little weird of him to volunteer that information so willingly, it was nice of him to attempt to defend me against his psycho sister.

"Do you… Uh… Do you want an ice pack, or something?" Troy offered, gesturing at the freezer. Sharpay shook her head.

"So, Troy," she started again, ignoring her brother and batting her eyelashes. "I just realized that I've never seen your bedroom. I've imagined it tons of times of course, but I've never actually seen it. Tell me all about it." Taking a step back, Troy shifted his weight from foot to foot and grabbed at the back of his neck.

"I'd… uh… I'd rather not." She blinked at him, and then she giggled.

"Oh, you want to _show_ me? That's right, you live right next door. Well, let's go!" She jumped up enthusiastically and grabbed his hand. Yeah, that's right. He wants to bring you next door and show you his room so that you know exactly what it looks like for all of your kinky fantasies. I'm thinking…no. But she shoved him out the sliding doors anyway and starting tugging him across the backyard. Rolling my eyes, I scooped Maggie up and Ryan and I followed them outside.

"Sharpay, it would be really great if you didn't break into Troy's house. Obviously, his parents aren't home right now, and he doesn't have a key." She stopped, turning around and crossing her arms.

"How would you know that he doesn't have his keys?" Duh, I would know because I'm making it up to get him out of this mess.

"Troy, do you have your keys with you?" He got the point rather quickly. I was very proud.

"No, no I do not. What a shame. Wouldn't want anybody here to commit a felony or anything by breaking into my house, so why don't we go sit down?" He pulled away from Sharpay, and sat down quickly at the picnic table. I sat down too, and then Ryan and Sharpay followed suit. I would have thought that with all her dramatic arts training that Sharpay would have been able to see through our acting. Maybe Troy and I are better actors than we thought. Huh, maybe we should join the drama club.

It got really quiet. We seemed to do that a lot, the five of us. The quiet thing.

-x-

-x-

After a lot – and I mean a _lot_ – more quiet, we all got tired of sitting out in the yard and we went back inside and we loitered in the kitchen. Yes, I had been reduced to loitering in my own home. Finally, my mom called us for dinner. A successful break in the quiet! Maggie ran over and grabbed at Troy's leg, tugging on his pants.

"Up," she demanded. "Now." Grinning down at her, he scooped her off the ground and tucked her against his body. His knees suddenly began shaking, and his eyes widened.

"Oh no," he moaned dramatically, twirling around the kitchen. "She's so heavy!" Maggie giggled and grabbed his shoulders tightly as he spun. Sharpay rolled her eyes and plastered a smile on her face.

"Aw, Troy, you're so cute with her."

"Isn't he?" I mocked, clapping my hands together. "Well, as cute as Troy is, you'll have to stop your drooling for a few minutes to that we can go sit at the grown up table for dinner." She glared at me, crossing her arms over her chest. Her fake chest. Okay, so maybe her parents have some restraint and haven't gotten her breast implants yet, but mark my words; in five years: her chest – totally fake.

Ryan and Troy headed out of the kitchen, and I waited for Sharpay to pass me. She didn't. Instead, she stalked over to me and narrowed her eyes. Apparently, she had decided that it was necessary to clear some things up.

"Listen, Montez," she hissed, thrusting a finger in my direction, "This isn't my idea of a nice evening out. This is my idea of having been dropped into a very deep hole sharp rocks at the bottom. This isn't some sort of a bonding experience, and we're not going to become good buddies. And if I hear that you're spreading this around school tomorrow, I'm going to make your life a living hell." And then she flipped her hair and stomped into the hallway.

Ooh. Scary hair flip.

We filed into the dining room one by one and took seats. This was going to be an interesting experience. Maggie was placed at the end of the table in a booster seat because of her short little body, and I sat to her right with Troy next to me. Sharpay took a seat beside Ryan, near the end, and ended up on Maggie's left. She glared across the table at me, her eyes flickering over to Troy once. Her headband glinted.

Only one of us was coming out alive.

-x-

-x-

_Oh snap! Dramatic, isn't it? Well just wait. It gets better. Or worse. It really depends on who you're rooting for. (Psst. Root for me.)_

-Troy's Take-

So… That night was a dark night.

They had barely been there for two minutes and Sharpay was already being annoying. Now, I'm going to be honest here and it will probably get me slapped in the back of the head, but her dress was hot. Unfortunately, she was the one wearing it. If Angelina Jolie was wearing it… Totally different story. But Angelina Jolie wasn't wearing it. Sharpay was. And it totally killed it. Speaking of Angelina Jolie, Gabriella mentioned that Sharpay started talking about us having children. What was up with _that_? I mean, _come on_.

I was surprised that all four of us made it to the dinner table without any injuries. Actually, that's not true. Sharpay had a bruised scalp and Maggie's wrists were a little red from where Sharpay had attempted to twist them away from her hair. But there were no major injuries. There weren't any broken bones or missing teeth or bleeding wounds. Which sounds good, but it just meant that the tension was festering. It was bubbling beneath the surface…

Yeah, it was just a really dark night.

Christina brought the food out and it was a chicken dish, mashed potatoes, peas, and these other vegetables that looked way too fancy to me. And sitting there across the table from Ryan Evans was only extremely awkward. It's like in school when the teacher puts you in a group with these people who you've never actually said anything to ever in your entire life. You have nothing to say to them, but you know that it's entirely up to you to help everyone else survive the project. Or, in my case, the tragic dinner party. Honestly, I was considering setting off my own cell phone, but Gabriella probably would have killed me. It really wasn't fair of her to ambush me the way she did. She made me swear! It's totally against the rules to make a guy swear not to leave and then throw him into a room with a five year old girl and a pair of blonde theater geeks, one of which is totally obsessed with said guy. And I don't even know if there really are any brownies.

"So, Troy," Sharpay started…again. "This summer you should come spend some time with me at Lava Springs. That's the big, fancy, elite country club that my parents own. I could definitely get you honorary membership, right daddy?" Oh, God, no. Please, don't let me be doomed to spending the entire summer with her. She'll probably forge my signature on a wedding license and an adoption form. Someone had better shoot me if I ever have to marry that woman. And I mean it. If a tranquilizer is what it takes to get me safely away from her, by all means, feel free to knock me out. If it takes a shot gun, fine! Gabriella will probably be able to handle that for me. She's been holding back for a while now, if I'm reading the tight muscle in her jaw correctly.

And speaking of holding back, I can't tell you how little she self control she exhibited while flicking peas, one by one, across the table to hit Sharpay's hand. With every small round vegetable, the vein in Sharpay's forehead throbbed a little bit more. She was trying to ignore it, but it didn't seem to be working.

"Uh… I'll have to see about that. I know that my parents were making some pretty unbreakable plans for over the summer." Discretely, I slipped my hand off of the table and dropped it onto Gabriella's leg beneath layers of tablecloth. As entertaining as it was watching the steam coming out of Sharpay's ears, if I had let her continue any longer the princess probably would have flung herself across the table to grab Gabriella around the neck if she wasn't careful.

Gabriella shot me a confused look, glancing down at my hand and raising an eyebrow. I nodded at the peas, and she grinned before relaxing her hand out of its flicking position. Sighing contently to herself, she leaned towards Maggie after noticing her struggling with her vegetables. Scooping the peas to mix them with the mashed potatoes, Gabriella scooped them onto the fork and held it out to Maggie.

The confused look on Maggie's face should have been the first sign of bad things to come. Apparently, Maggie didn't understand why Gabriella was mixing the yucky green balls with the yummy mashed potatoes, and she didn't understand why she actually had to eat them when Gabriella got to flick them across the table at the mean girl.

And that's when five year old Maggie Baylor decided to take matters into her own hands.

Literally.

The mashed potato-pea mixture hit Sharpay's cheek before anyone could move.

I would like to take this opportunity to remind you all that this story is purely non-fiction. It's all factual. At no point was I allowed to fabricate anything. I was given a pamphlet that clearly explained all of the rules, and the one that was bolded, underlined, italicized, and capitalized was 'tell the truth you blithering idiots or I'll kill you all in your sleep.'

Ryan chuckled and Gabriella laughed full out, but I knew better. The mashed potatoes had hit the fan. Sharpay's eyes narrowed and she raised her hand slowly, flinging the mess down onto the table cloth before retrieving the chunk that had landed in her lap. Christina started apologizing, but Sharpay didn't even acknowledge her. It was directed more at Mr. and Mrs. Evans anyway. Gabriella was still laughing, and Sharpay's eyes just kept getting smaller and smaller. It was like a horror movie. And it was all in slow motion.

Her hands grabbed for her spoon, and I flinched back against the chair. Oh no. The mashed potatoes splattered against Gabriella's chest. (By the way, she has breasts. _Gabriella_ has _breasts_.) She gasped, and her eyes narrowed too.

"What the hell was that for?" she screeched, pulling the white mush from her shirt. "I didn't throw anything at you. What are you, three years old?" Now here's where I get to use Chad's word of the day: hypocritical. When someone is hypocritical, they say one thing and do another. You see, as Gabriella said that, she launched the potatoes back to Sharpay. That was _hypocritical_ of her.

Now, obviously the parents noticed the throwing of the food and the yelping by then, so Christina jumped up and started yelling at Gabriella, saying that she shouldn't be throwing food at company or yelling in front of company and blah, blah, blah. But then Sharpay threw _more_ potatoes, so Christina just sort of went all wide eyed and sat down again, opening and closing her mouth without actually saying anything, just watching them begin a miniature food fight. Then it was Sharpay's mother's turn to yell and whatnot. I wasn't really paying attention, but it went something like 'Don't throw food on the hostess's daughter' and 'Why are you acting so terrible in front of such a handsome young man?' (And she wasn't talking about Ryan, if you catch my drift.) But Gabriella threw more potatoes. So, being the concerned neighbor and best friend that I am, having witnessed the searing lack of proper parenting actually occurring, I intervened before anyone else was covered with food.

"O-kay! I think that we're done eating. We'll be in the kitchen." I grabbed Gabriella, pulling her out of the dining room into the hallway. Following her into the kitchen, I waited for her to finish sponging off her shirt.

"Stupid blonde whore," she muttered to herself, attempting to wipe the spatter off of her collar bone. Rolling my eyes, I took the sponge away from her and wiped off the mashed potatoes myself. "Eyes are up here, Troy." She pressed her finger against my chin and forced my head up, "Just because I'm your friend doesn't mean that you get to ogle my newly discovered breasts."

"I get that you're pissed off, but don't take it out on me. I'm not ogling your breasts. I'm getting the food off of you." She sighed and looked up, giving me a better view of her neck. I brushed my finger over her pulse. Gabriella has soft skin. She's lucky. My hands are all calloused from basketball.

"I hate that you're such a nice guy sometimes," she sighed, hugging my stomach once I finished getting rid of the mashed potatoes. "You make me feel like a jerk." Chuckling slightly, I rumpled her hair.

"You _were_ just flinging peas and potatoes as your mother's dinner guest."

"Shut up."

"Oh, no, of course everything's fine. I just have to check on something quick." Storming into the kitchen, Christina narrowed her eyes at Gabriella and threw her hands in the air. "Gabriella, what on earth were you thinking?" she hissed. It was really scary. "You're embarrassing me in front of company. Throwing food? How old were you when you missed the lesson about not throwing food at other people?"

"Technically, if I missed the lesson, I wouldn't know how old I was when I missed it…because I missed it." Christina glared at her, crossing her arms.

"Gabriella, be serious. You were throwing potatoes at the poor girl."

"She threw them first," Gabriella argued. "It's not like I just randomly threw them at her. I was defending myself."

"Well, it's incredibly clear that you missed the lesson on using your words, too!" Squeezing her eyes shut and rubbing her forehead, Christina sighed. "Alright, I can't have this discussion right now. You need to go back in there and apologize to her." Gabriella rolled her eyes. "Be the bigger person, Gabriella." As Christina left the kitchen again, I grabbed Gabriella's shoulders.

"Be the bigger person. Four letters. B-T-B-P. Now you say them."

"S-T-F-U."

"…Okay… Not quite the four letters I was thinking of, but very creative nonetheless."

We went back to the dining room, and Christina suggested that we all go upstairs to Gabriella's room while the parents talked and chatted and whatever. Gabriella pushed open her bedroom door, and stepped aside, waiting for everyone to follow her inside. Sharpay walked to the middle of the room, jutted out her hip, and looked around.

"It's kind of small, don't you think? I mean, sure, you have a fireplace, but who doesn't? How can you even breathe in here?" She reached a hand up to rub her neck. "I feel so… What's that word? Clausetropic?" We all exchanged glances and Maggie giggled into her hand. Maggie is _five_ and she knows that clausetropic isn't a word. Although, she does tend to say aminals instead of animals a lot. But anyway, Sharpay was just standing there tapping her foot, waiting for us to answer her.

"Do you mean…claustrophobic?" I asked hesitantly. "Like…a fear of being in closed spaces?"

Her eyes widened and she pointed at me. "Oh my God, yeah, that's the one!" Then she frowned. "Wait… If claustrophobic means being afraid of, like, small spaces, what's it called when you're afraid of spiders?"

Gabriella sighed, moving to sit down on her bed. "Arachnophobia."

Ryan smiled, "You know, the name for the fear of long words is a long word. It's . It would be impossible to ever tell anyone what condition you have because you'd be too scared to say it. And no, I didn't make that up."

It got quiet after that. It got really quiet. I sat on the floor with Maggie, and Sharpay and Ryan went to sit on the couch-chair thing. For a long time, it was quiet. Really quiet. Did I mention that already?

-x-

-x-

_Yup. She threw potatoes at me. SHE THREW POTATOES AT ME. And then I had to apologize! And do you know what happened when I apologized? She didn't apologize back! Now, excuse me if I'm wrong, but I was under the impression that when you throw potatoes at someone you should apologize! And, trust me… The night didn't get any better as it went on._

- My (Gabriella's) Take -

It was quiet…but I think that Troy mentioned that. We were all sitting there…quietly. Finally, someone spoke up. But it was just Ryan asking where the bathroom was. I told him to go in mine, but the second that I did that Maggie decided that she had to go to the bathroom, too, and dragged Troy out into the hallway, making him wait beside the bathroom door while she hummed to herself. I think we all know how that left me.

It was just Sharpay and me…alone.

But, in all fairness, she seemed to be distracted by something shiny on the table. Alas, it didn't last long, and she looked up at me. Sighing, she seemed to be preparing herself for battle of some sort. Hmm. I wonder who it could be with. Troy? Not here. Ryan? Not here. The chair? Too much of a challenge for her. She went for me, someone who would likely dumb her words down so that she could understand.

"Alright, Montez, we need to have a talk." She uncrossed her legs and stood up, stalking towards me. I stood up. "Here's the deal. I cannot risk other people knowing about this little encounter of ours. If I get caught hanging out – which we're not doing – with someone like you, my rep will be totally trashed. And although," she thrust out her hip, "It also means that nobody will know of my thrilling night with Troy Bolton, it is a secret I am willing to keep."

I blinked at her and tried to say, "You didn't have a thrilling night with Troy Bolton. You had a boring night near Troy Bolton." But she talked over me.

"We're not friends. Just because my mom knows your mom doesn't mean that I have to pretend to like you. I don't like you. We're never going to be friends." She sighed and crossed her arms. "But… My mom thinks that it's a great thing for us to be close because she thinks you're smart and she thinks that you'd be some sort of a good influence on me. And we're not going to be able to pull off bull-shitting that unless we're not constantly tearing at each other's throats." My eyebrows rose.

"You're not suggesting…what I think you're suggesting…are you?"

"We're not going to become friends, if that's what you're thinking."

"Oh, well, thank God."

"All I'm talking about is a mini-truce." She smiled to herself and mused, "A waving of a smallish white flag." Yeah, I know, I was surprised that she knew what that meant, too. "I'll leave you alone, and you'll leave me alone. It'll cause us both a lot less stress, and when our parents force us together like my mother will without a doubt do we won't have to try so hard to fake getting along. It's easier to fake it with someone you don't care about than with someone you can't stand."

I hate her for making me say this.

She's right.

My mom has been dying for me to have a real female friend for a long time. She's never actually met Taylor, and Taylor's not really what my mom sees as girly anyway. Sharpay – with all her pink and frilly and sparkly – is my mom's ideal. And even though she's now seen that Sharpay and I don't really get along, she's going to force us together.

"Fine," I agreed stiffly. "We'll have a mini-truce. And that means no more snippy comments about Troy from you."

She smirked, "And no more bitchy one-liners from you."

"Fine. We're not going to shake on it or anything, are we?"

"No. It's a truce, not a lesbian wedding."

"…What the hell are you talking about?"

"Yeah, what the heck _are_ you two talking about?" We both turned and saw Ryan coming out of my bathroom. "What's this I hear about lesbian weddings?" Sharpay rolled her eyes and pulled her cell phone out.

"Nothing, Ry. Just let it go. There's not going to be any lesbian wedding." He shrugged, resuming his seat on the chair. We were all quiet again, but I don't think it was for the same reasons as before. I was still thinking about what had just happened.

I had accepted mini-truce called by Sharpay Evans. I had forfeited all messing-with rights, and I had gained little more than less daily entertainment. I certainly wasn't about to get a new best friend, that was for sure. I bit my lip hard. Heat-of-the-moment decisions really suck.

Troy walked back in with Maggie a few seconds later. "I see everything is exactly the same as when I left," he muttered, collapsing onto the bed beside me. I glanced over at Sharpay.

Maybe not exactly.

-x-

-x-

**Author's Note:** I would do the happy 'I'm back!' thing, but I'm pretty sure that most of you want to kill me because I joked about June 1st and it's now...December 19th. I'm extremely sorry; extremely, totally, hugely, enormously sorry. At the time, I really did believe that I would be able to complete this chapter by June. However, writer's block attacked me and the thought of coming near this story kind of began...repulsing me. The idea of AU characters wasn't appealing and I started writing _Dabbles with Daddy_ - the next chapter of which I am now tinkering with - and then _Sneak Out_ came about. Lately though I have been craving sarcastic Gabriella, and I have also been lacking inspiration. And then one day I was randomly clicking through YouTube and I discovered a song that I had long forgotten. Reach by S Club 7 - possibly the happiest song I have ever heard - put me into the best mood that I have been in in a long time and all I wanted to do was write. So I did.

Unfortunately, I have not begun the next chapter yet. However, now that my desire to write My Guys has returned, my best friend is anxious for me to finish in the next (what she calculated if my current speed of writing continues) twelve years, and I have an inspirational source known as (The Outstanding Superb Awesome Time Period Of) 90s music, I'm hoping that it won't be long before I have it written. I usually like to have a few chapters written before I post, but I figured that if I made you guys wait past the new year for this one that you might actually track me down and stone me to death because of how horrible I am.

So...Happy Holidays!


	9. The Confrontation

**-CHAPTER EIGHT-**

**-Thursday-**

**-The Confrontation (A Casual Greeting)-**

_I just love a good old-fashioned food fight in my own dining room. The lights shining, the potatoes in my hair… Actually, I've always wanted to be in a real food fight. I just never imagined it to be with Sharpay, the demon girl that I called a mini-truce with. Now just to refresh your memories, I would like to remind you that a) she started it and b) we're not friends. Just because I agreed not to be bitchy to her doesn't mean that I'm suddenly going to be her new shopping buddy. Anyway, they finally left, but not before Zeke came to pick up Maggie. He was pretty surprised that Sharpay was at my house. Plus, he kept making all these lame excuses to stick around until she left. "Oh, my foot hurts right now, so I don't think it would be safe for me to drive Maggie home." He didn't know about the truce at the time, and neither did Troy. It was put to the test on Thursday at school._

-x-

-x-

"Jay, turn it _down_," I groaned, leaning into Troy's arm. "It's so loud. I'm getting a headache." The music stayed at the same volume and I groaned again, writhing in my seat. Troy kicked at the back of Jason's seat and wrapped an arm around my shoulders. I snuggled into him, trying to block out the sound. It didn't work. "Cross, I'm tired, I'm getting a headache, and I'm about to unleash last month's can of PMS on your ass! Now turn it down!" Troy kicked the seat again and Jason leaned over towards Chad.

"Can she do that?" he whispered. Chad shook his head.

"No way. She used last month's already. This is probably from like… three months ago, or something." Zeke continued flipping through his Spanish notes, rolling his eyes.

"Who made that rule? Who decided that Gabs was allowed to have an account of PMS hissy-fits? I vote that we evoke a rule that states that the PMS expires within one week of the end date." He frowned and leaned towards me. "Hey, PMS-y, what does this say? I'm supposed to say that my teacher is lovely." I glared at him.

"Mi profesora es una puta." He nodded, repeating it to himself. Troy snorted, and reached over me to whack Zeke's arm.

"Man, under no circumstances should you ever say that to Ramirez. She'll string you up." I elbowed him, hoping to keep him quiet, but he just chuckled and ignored me. "You basically just said that your teacher was a whore." Zeke turned to glare at me.

"Mi amiga es una bruja. Translate that." I stuck my tongue out at him. (He called me a witch.)

"Maybe you should do it. You're the one with the test today."

-x-

-x-

Troy turned around when there were about three minutes left of Spanish, casually scratching his temple as he mimed putting a gun to his head. Ms Rodriguez finally said we were free to chat amongst ourselves quietly, and I worked my way to the front of the classroom. Sitting myself atop Troy's desk, I sighed, resting my feet on the edge of Chad's desk.

"Is it me, or is Spanish slowly eating my soul?" Troy asked, throwing his head back and yawning. "I'm dying up here. And I can't even zone out because she put me in the front. I want to be in the back again. At least you would talk to me. Chad's so terrified of having to speak to her that he won't even glance at me." I chuckled, ruffling his hair.

"I think that that's why she put you in the front, smart one. She saw you always zoning out in the back when you sat next to me." Troy shook his head and leaned back, crossing his arms over his chest. His gorgeous arms, by the way. They're very nice. Ever since last night when Sharpay thrust her hands into his hair, I've just noticed how toned his arms are. I mean, Troy is buff. But not scary buff. It's like…the perfect combination of slender and buff. (Which, I know, sounds kind of impossible.) I apologize in advance. I may be like this for a while.

"I never zoned out when I sat next to you. I was always tossing you notes."

"Or just tossing stuff at me," I reminded him. He chuckled, nodding his head.

"Yeah… Good times, good times. Hey, how do you think Zeke did on his test? Gary said it was crazy hard." I shrugged. We shouldn't judge based off of what Gary said. Gary was a few McNuggets short of a Happy Meal. If you catch my drift.

"I'm sure he did fine. He's a good test-taker. He psyches himself out right before, but he always does fine. His compositions are always nearly perfect." Suddenly, Troy lurched forward, his arms settling around my waist, trapping my arms at my sides. Leaning his head against my arm, he groaned.

"I'm tired," he whined. "And I'm hungry. I really want to go eat lunch. How much longer until fifth period?"

"There's only one period left, you big baby. That's like forty five minutes." He pouted and I smiled down at him. I'm powerless to resist him, have been ever since we were little and he pouted his way into my bathtub. I was very adamant about taking the bath alone, but my mom thought it would be adorable if we took one together – yes, there are pictures. And yes, he did bring his own bath toys. He didn't make me share my rubber ducky. What a good little boy, right? (Oh, you might think that, but he just used his battleships to 'sink' all of my poor little bird friends.) "Do you want my granola bar to hold you over?" I asked, and he nodded against my arm.

"Yes. Granola is good," he muttered into my sleeve, dropping his arms. "It's not quite as good as that jumbo Snickers bar that I saw you slip into your bag this morning, but I'll take it." I rolled my eyes at him, hopping off his desk just as the bell rang. The kids in the class rushed past me as I headed back for my bag. Reaching into the front pocket, I tugged out the snack bar and tossed it over to him. Chad reached out to grab it, and I couldn't help laughing when Troy elbowed him aggressively in the stomach and took it for himself.

"Chad, you ate two breakfasts today – mine and Troy's. How can you possibly be hungry?" Troy coughed through a mouthful of granola, gaping at me with wide eyes. Swallowing roughly, he shoved Chad's shoulder as he moved to leave the classroom.

"Dude, you ate her breakfast? The whole reason that I gave you my breakfast was so that you wouldn't eat Gabriella's! I specifically said to you that I would give you my breakfast so that Brie could have her own. Do you listen to other people when they speak to you? Oh wait, that's right," he grumbled sarcastically, "You were probably _chewing_ too loud to hear me." Stepping into the hallway, I rolled my eyes as they continued to shove each other and bicker back and forth in front of me. I phased out their voices, my eyes training themselves on the back of Troy's head.

I know, I know. You're all going to get, if you haven't already gotten, sick of me looking at different parts of Troy's body and describing them. (And no, that was not a way of me casually mentioning 'the incident,' so _ha_.) But it's kind of like when you get a new toy, or you hear a new song. You sort of go into overkill mode. Recently, I've discovered the sheer hotness that is Troy Bolton, something of which everyone was made aware. So it's only natural that I would be beginning to obsess over him a little. It isn't as though I'm suddenly going to start wanting him. All that these random thoughts about Troy mean is one thing. And yes, regrettably, I'm going to have to write it down now.

I am attracted to Troy. I know. I fell into the high school trap. And, yes, I realize that I never really denied the fact that any of my friends were attractive. However, this is different. I am _attracted_ to him, which is way more intense than just 'Oh, yeah, he fits society's profile of beauty.' This is more like 'Oh _snap_, look at him. Wouldn't I like to hold _that_ close for a few hours.' …Only a little less nymphomaniac-sounding.

This whole attraction to Troy isn't going to go well. I can tell right now. Because I was so busy looking at the back of his head and admiring his hair and the way it touched his neck, I completely missed the figures approaching from the other end of the hallway. Chad was the first one to notice her walking towards us.

"Sighting!" he called out. I glanced between their heads and saw Sharpay strutting in our direction, her eyes glued to the sidekick in her hands. Ryan was behind her, walking and conversing animatedly with an extremely short girl. She was looking down, so all I could see was the black fedora on her head, the pencil behind her ear, and the several pages of paper clasped in her hand. Troy turned around and glanced at me, his eyebrows raised in confusion.

I could feel the insults on the tip of my tongue. Insulting Sharpay has always come naturally to me. Some of the real zingers take a little preplanning, but the effect is only greater. But today, my mom's ecstatic face from last night – after her anger had washed away and she made plans with Mrs. Evans for me and Sharpay to spend an afternoon at the mall together – flashed through my mind, and I bit my tongue. Damn me and my guilty conscience's strive to be a good daughter. Chad and Troy frowned at me. I moved to the side, squeezing in between them, leaving room for Sharpay to pass, but Chad stepped right in front of her.

"You're looking… interesting as usual," he smirked, crossing his arms over his chest. Her eyes rose from her cell phone to meet Chad's, and she raised her eyebrows silently. Popping out her hip and pursing her lips, she looked him up and down. He didn't continue.

"Is that the best you've got?" she drawled, glancing my way. She looked like she had something to say to me, but then she looked away again. It was kind of weird. Ryan flashed me a small smile, and touched the short girl's elbow.

"Gabriella, this is Kelsi," he said, drawing my attention away from the conversation, if it could be considered that, between his sister and Chad. "Kelsi, Gabriella." We shook hands. "Kelsi is writing the musical numbers for the play this semester." I smiled politely at her, ignoring the questioning looks that were being shot at the back of my head. Chad hadn't quite noticed fully, still barking at Sharpay, but I could feel Troy's eyes, the really blue ones, on me. "She does the lyrics and the music and the script. Impressive, huh? And then I get to work with her on the choreography and everything." I nodded.

"Wow, that's… That's great." Troy nudged his foot against my heel, and I turned around. He threw me a 'what-the-hell' look, but I just rolled my eyes. I didn't have time to use my wicked awesome brain powers to force my own thoughts into his mind. "I thought the school used pre-written stuff. Like… _The Wizard of Oz_, or _Beauty and the Beast _or something." Kelsi shook her head.

"Sometimes they do, but that's only if the submissions are really terrible. Ms. Darbus picked my composition this year. I was so honored."

"That's pretty cool." It came off kind of cold, and I knew that it seemed like I was being kind of rude, but I hadn't exactly gotten a chance to explain to everyone about the truce, so I didn't want to be all sunshine and daisies. They might all have heart attacks. However, whilst I was in the middle of being nice to Ryan and his tiny friend, Chad was doing everything in his power to antagonize Sharpay.

"I heard you lost a very valuable pen," he mocked, making his voice an octave higher. "That's, like, such crap. I'm mean…ugh, crap." She glared at him and I felt my fists clench anxiously. I wanted to reach over and wail on the back of his head, but I thought that it might be too obvious. Sharpay turned to me, flashed me a tight smile, and then shoved past him. Chad yelped, and I was willing to bet that she stabbed him with something when nobody was really looking. Ryan and Kelsi followed immediately, and I hurried towards the end of the hallway the moment they disappeared.

"Hey, what the hell was that?" Chad demanded, grabbing onto my elbow as he caught up to me, Troy only moments behind him. "You were just _nice_ to Ryan Evans. You're _never_ nice to Ryan Evans. What's going on?" Troy stopped in front of me, pulling me off to the side. He stared at me, and I shifted uncomfortably under his gaze.

"What happened yesterday when I took Maggie to the bathroom?" he asked suspiciously. How does he do that? I can't even keep a secret from him for one day. He always knows what's going on. "What'd you say to her?" He glanced over my shoulder. "Did she threaten you? Is she blackmailing you? What does she have on you? God, are you taking drugs? Dealing ecstasy? Working in a strip club? Just tell me, I can take it. We'll get you through this."

"Yes," I said sarcastically. "I am a heroine addict. I was going to wait to tell you until your birthday, but I guess… surprise!" He rolled his eyes. "She's not blackmailing me. We just… We just came to an agreement. We had a discussion and came to an agreement." He shared a confused look with Chad and I sighed. "I don't have enough time to explain it now. Thanks to you," I shot a glare at Chad, "We're probably going to be late for health, and if I get another late this quarter I'll get detention. And I _really _don't want to go back to detention for a while."

"But—"

"I'll explain it more during lunch, alright? I promise. I won't tell Chad anything. I'll save all the boring details for when you're around." Troy smiled happily and ruffled my hair.

"That's my girl."

-x-

-x-

"Alright," Chad mumbled through a mouthful of egg salad. "Get on with the story."

I glanced around, "Shouldn't we wait for Zeke and Jason? I don't want to have to tell this story over and over again." Troy shrugged indifferently.

"I just want to know what's going on. I mean, I know that things were weird before I left the room last night, and I know that things were even weirder when I got back. What happened in between?" He took a giant gulp from his Gatorade. Wiping his mouth on the back of his hand like a typical male, he continued, "Like, did she hypnotize you, or something?"

"Wait, what are you talking about?" Chad cut in as Jason returned to the table. "What happened last night?"

"Sharpay and Ryan came to my house for dinner while I was babysitting Maggie for Zeke," I admitted, tugging off the corner of my sandwich. "I called Troy and asked him to come keep me company so that I wouldn't have to deal with the mysterious kids of my mom's mysterious coworker all on my own. Little did I know," I sighed, "That mysterious coworker was none other than Mrs. Evans."

Troy snorted, "Yeah, she got tired of doing yoga all day long. So she decided to get a job." Chad rolled his eyes and started picking at his lunch.

"I _wish_ I had enough money to decide to get a job just to occupy my time."

"Tell me about it," Troy muttered through his lunch.

Zeke returned to the table, setting his tray down gently and plopping down in the seat. "We talking about Sharpay?" he asked happily, unscrewing the cap on his water bottle.

"Yeah," Chad said, "Ella was just explaining exactly what went down between her and Sharpay." Zeke's eyes widened and he sputtered through the water.

"Something went down between you and Sharpay?" The genuine concern in his voice touched me. "What happened? What did you do to her? Is she alright?" He looked around the cafeteria for her frantically, and the happy feeling was gone.

"She's fine," Troy drawled, smirking. "All of her press-on nails are perfectly secure, as are all of her hair extensions. Well, actually, those might be a little loose. But you can only blame your sister for that." Zeke's face fell.

"No wonder she kept throwing me dirty looks when I got there last night. She found out that Maggie was my sister." He frowned. "Now she'll never date me. Thanks a lot, Gabs."

I gaped at him. He had to be joking. "What? The only reason I was babysitting last night was because _you_ were on a date! With another girl!" He glared at me, slamming his hand down flat on the tabletop.

"That was only because I was trying to build up enough confidence to ask her out. Which I'll never get to do now because you let my sister run wild and pull out her hair! God, you ask someone to do you a tiny favor, and they put the screws to you."

"Hey, chill out," Troy cut in, sitting up straight. "You don't want to get involved with her, anyway. Sharpay's a bitch. And Maggie must have bitch-radar or something, because she wasn't taking any crap."

"Please, what crap was Sharpay giving Maggie?" Zeke retorted, balling his hands into fists.

"She was giving _me_ crap," I snapped, "All fucking night."

"Didn't you guys make peace or something like that?" Jason asked. "Wasn't that the point of this whole discussion that we're supposed to be having right now?" We all turned to him and Zeke took a few deep breaths. "Um… That's what Chad was muttering about in health."

"Yes," I said tersely. "But I don't know that I feel like sharing anymore."

Chad poked my arm. "Share."

"Yeah," Troy teased, poking my other arm, "Share."

I rolled my eyes. They're all bipolar. Screaming and arguing one second, cackling like hyenas the next. "Fine. Basically, we called a truce." They all stared blankly at me. "In exchange for her not throwing herself at you anymore," I glanced at Troy, "I'm not going to be a bitch to her anymore." Chad frowned in confusion.

"What?"

"We're not going to be mean to each other anymore," I explained slowly. "And she's not going to hit on Troy anymore."

Suddenly, Troy flung his arms around me. "Have I mentioned to you lately that you're my bestest friend _ever_ and that I love you more than basketball?" Chad gasped and pointed.

"More than _basketball_? Did you hear what he said? More than basketball!"

"Did you hear what she said?" Jason chuckled. "She just freed Troy of Sharpay's flirting. Even I love her more than basketball right now."

"No more flirting," Troy said dreamily, squeezing my shoulders tightly. "Now, I'm totally one hundred percent for this awesome truce that benefits me way more than it benefits any of you, but why exactly are you two putting up the white flags?"

I sighed, sniffing casually at his shampoo. Peaches. I guess I should have seen that coming. "You saw my mom last night. She and Sharpay's mom were being all girl-happy. So we decided that if our parents are going to force us to hang out together, we might as well make the time tolerable."

"You suck." Chad scowled. "You really suck. You got rid of all of our fun making fun of her just so that Troy could have one less girl fawning all over him."

Troy stuck out his tongue. "I told you that I was her favorite."

"Really?" Jason asked. "He's your favorite?"

"I like you all the same." Even if lately I've begun to notice the way Troy's muscles ripple beneath his skin when he shoots three pointers, and the way he flips his hair out of his eyes, and the awesome way he smells as he hugs me during lunch periods. "It would be rude of me to pick favorites." I snuggled into Troy and stage-whispered, "Don't worry. I like you the best."

"Oh, ha ha. You're friggin hilarious, Ella."

"Gabriella?"

Kelsi's voice was so timid when she spoke that I almost missed her saying my name. I turned around and she was standing there awkwardly, a brown paper bag clutched tightly in her fist. She pushed her glasses up on her nose and glanced uncomfortably around the table. I shot them all looks, mentally warning them to be nice.

"Hi."

"Do you think I could sit with you?" she asked. "Sharpay and Ryan are in a meeting with Ms. Darbus, and the rest of my table is gone." I looked up towards the table where Sharpay typically sat with her brother. It was empty. Chad kicked my foot and discretely shook his head. Zeke shrugged to himself and stared down at his lunch. Troy appeared indifferent, and I smiled as Jason began scooting over to make room for her.

"Sure," I said slowly through my giggle. "Jason's making space already." She watched him with wide eyes as he cleared his area. She walked hesitantly to the seat between him and Chad, who glared at me and scooted over, and she sat, staring at her lunch bag. "Uh… What's the drama meeting about?" I asked politely. Jason smiled at her. She glanced at him, smiling back.

She looked a little flustered by him. "It's about the play. They're a little short on auditions this time around, I think."

"That's hard to believe," Chad muttered under his breath, and I nodded at her, kicking him sharply and discretely beneath the table. He's such a close-minded baby sometimes.

"They have to rework the script." She shrugged, pulling out a sandwich and a water bottle.

"The one that you wrote?" Jason piped up. All eyes snapped to him. I hadn't told him that, and I highly doubt that Troy and Chad told him. And I didn't think that he'd ever paid attention in drama class. Apparently, neither did Kelsi because her mouth dropped open.

"Uh, yeah."

"That sucks," he said, and he offered her some of his fries. Daintily, she plucked one off the top with her thin fingers, breaking it in half before dunking it shallowly in the ketchup. She was growing oblivious to the four pairs of eyes staring at her conversational partner.

Troy nudged my arm and mouthed, "What the hell?" at me. I shrugged back.

"I won't be able to come see the show." She took an awkward bite of her sandwich and there was a pregnant pause. (And, no, Chad, that doesn't mean that anyone is actually going to have a baby.) Suddenly, Jason's eyes lit up and he touched her arm. She stared at him, stuffing her sandwich back into the Ziploc back. I prepared to fire a clean shot at his shin under the table for scaring her off, but he started blabbering again. "Maybe you could play me some of the songs… sometime. I mean, I know that you play the piano, and stuff. So maybe you would be willing to let me hear some of the songs?"

She smiled and I kicked him under the table anyway. "Maybe. I didn't realize that you liked show tunes. Most people can't stand that kind of music."

He shrugged, "I like movies and music, and my sister likes musicals, and my mom likes the theater. They kind of grow on you, anyway."

"Well, um, I have tea in the music room." She pushed away from the table slightly. "Do you… like tea?" Jason nodded. Liar, he hates tea. But that didn't stop him.

He got up and they left the cafeteria together. Chad and Troy stared blankly at them, and Zeke's mouth dropped open, his lips flapping stupidly.

"What just happened?" Chad stammered, laying his hands flat against the tabletop.

"Well, Jason went to listen to show tunes in the music room with the small girl that Ryan Evans introduced to Gabriella before health." Troy stared at me. "Why did he do that? How the hell did he know all that stuff about the play anyway? What does he do, go after school and perv the drama rehearsals?"

Chad snorted, "Who would want to perv Sharpay? Other than Z, of course." Troy laughed and high-fived him, and Zeke tossed a napkin at Chad's head.

"Sure, rag on me now, but when Jason starts bringing Broadway soundtracks into the car, you've only got Gabs to blame." Chad stopped laughing and turned to me.

"That's right. You did this." I rolled my eyes. "If you hadn't decided to make some stupid truce with the queen of the drama department, her stupid brother never would have thought that it was appropriate to introduce that girl to you, she never would have brought her lunch over here, and Jason wouldn't be getting his brain melted in the music room!"

I glared at him. "Firstly, I'm not going to apologize for lessening the amount of stress in my day, and secondly, Jason just said that he _likes_ that type of music. So why don't you shut your mouth and back off!"

He stared over my shoulder at Troy expectantly. "Aren't you going to say anything to her?" Troy shrugged, continuing to eat his lunch. "Oh, of course," Chad drawled. "You have no problem with this. That's right. Sharpay's not going to flirt with you anymore, because that was so brutal right?"

"Hey, who stuck a basketball up your ass?" Troy snapped. "Chill out. If Jason wants to go listen to piano music and drink tea, why the fuck do you care? It's not like he's going to put on a dress and start carrying around a purse. It's one lunch period where he's not talking about basketball. Calm yourself."

"He's going there to flirt with a girl, anyway," I added, "You should be wolf-whistling or some other piggish man thing."

Chad pouted dejectedly and crossed his arms. "You guys all suck, I hope you know that."

It was a stroke of brilliance, on my part, what happened next. I'll set the scene. Chad was annoyed because he no longer had the privilege of mocking Sharpay. He was tense, irritated, and looking for someone to fight with. And who should approach our lunch table but my decathlon friend Taylor. She had a binder tucked in her arms and was scribbling frantically on a sheet of loose-leaf. I could practically see Chad's temper flaring up, but I didn't bother to warn him. (That's where the brilliance came in.)

"Can we fucking help you?" Chad snarled, glaring at her when she stopped walking beside my seat. I didn't bother slapping him. He was going to get enough of a smack down. Her eyes rose slowly from the paper and she smiled at him. But it was one of those evil smiles. Kind of a smirk.

"You can help society if you shut up, grow a brain, and stop polluting my mind with your vulgarities. Now get out of my way." She turned to me, and he stood up, grabbing at her elbow.

"Excuse me?" he hissed. "What did you just say?"

"I have better things to do than stand here and try to dumb down my speech so that an imbecile like you could understand that I'm telling you to learn some manners. Now let go of my arm before I take this pencil," she gestured wildly with the Ticonderoga, "And jam it into the junction of your thighs." He let go and sat down.

"Nicely done," I applauded her, peering at the notes. "What's this?"

"Eric and I can't figure out number seventeen. He said he was working on it all through math and couldn't understand why it wasn't working out. Then I tried it, and I feel like I'm missing something."

I laughed, pointing at the fourth line of the equation. "That's Eric's fault. His chicken scratch is illegible. That's a three, not an eight. You changed it in the middle of the problem. If you fix that, it should work out." She narrowed her eyes, examining the small handwritten numbers.

"Ugh, that idiot. He can't even read his own writing. Thanks, Gabriella." She gathered her things. "You should sit with us tomorrow. We can practice with Eric." She glared at Chad out of the corner of her eye and I smothered a smile. "Besides, maybe it'll be a little more… mentally stimulating for you. Or at least it'll be productive."

"I'll see," I said, smiling at her, "But I'm only considering this on the terms that you sit with us one day."

She glared at Chad again before shrugging at me. "It's a little… crowded here. Maybe if there's an absence I'll consider it. I'll talk to you later." She turned and left.

Chad's eyes became slits as they followed her retreating form back to the table with Eric and a few other decathlon members. "She's a bitch." I rolled my eyes, but he continued, "I like her."

-x-

-x-

"Haven't seen much of Walker today," Troy pointed out as he leaned against the row of lockers. He was waiting to walk out to the car with me. The heel of his one shoe was digging into the toe of his other foot, and he looked amazing somehow. And I had been happy, standing there while I got my stuff, to listen to the story he was telling me about math. But then he had to bring up Briton, and I wasn't able to just nod somewhat absentmindedly while I admired the smoothness of his jaw.

"Shh, don't say his name too loud. He might appear out of nowhere. Like Satan. Or the Great Gazoo from the Flintstones." He nodded his head in agreement as he chuckled, and tossed his head to the side, flicking his hair out of his eyes.

"But it's kind of weird, don't you think? I mean, given his proposal from Monday…"

I laughed, stuffing my textbook into my bag. "I think weird is the wrong word. I think you mean pleasurable, congenial, pleasant, enjoyable, wicked coolly awesome…" Shutting my locker, I spun the dial and fell into step beside him, heading towards the parking lot. "Believe me, I could go an entire year without seeing Briton Walker's face, and I would be totally okay with that." His arm suddenly fell around my shoulders and I shifted to walk closer to him.

"We should hire a hit man to take him out."

"Yeah," I breathed enthusiastically, "And then we can strip him and tie his dead and mangled naked body to the flagpole."

He wrinkled his nose, "Um… Bad idea. I don't want to ever see him naked, much less touch his naked body long enough to tie him to a pole."

"Point taken."

"Hey, did you talk to Jason? I haven't really seen him since after lunch." I shook my head.

"I saw him in math, but I didn't have a chance to talk to him. We were taking notes, and we didn't have any time for group work. He kind of darted out at the end of the period, too." I shrugged my shoulders. I couldn't blame him for wanting to avoid any interrogation. Out of the four of them, Jason was probably that most respectful of my guys and would want to keep the 'juicy details' of his 'lunch date' a secret.

"I wouldn't be surprised if he walked home today," Troy admitted, pushing open the front doors of the school. "Zeke had English with him and probably gave him the complete run-through of Chad's hissy fit." He started laughing to himself. "Man, I would have paid a lot of money to have a video of Taylor glaring at him. What I wouldn't give to be a fly on the wall during their first date." Date? What date? There's a date? Chad and Taylor? On a date? I guess judging the successfulness of that date would be based on whether or not there were any trips to the hospital.

"Their first date?"

"You need to work on your people reading skills," he advised, "He totally wants her now."

"No way."

"Please," he snorted, "She's had his attention ever since she made the Untouchables list. And now that the little verbal battle of smack-down wits took place, we'll never hear the end of it. Every single conversation that we have will somehow turn to Taylor and how terrible she is. And then finally, when he psyches himself up enough, he'll kiss her, and she'll slap him or something, and kiss him, and then all will be calm again."

I gaped at him. "You're so full of it. He does not like her."

"He does too," he insisted. "Just watch. On the way home, he'll bring her up. I'll bet you a dollar."

"Ooh, a whole dollar? I could buy a stick of gum with that! Or a pencil!" His arm dropped from around my shoulders and his elbow nudged at my stomach.

"Take it or not?" he asked, holding out his hand. Determinedly, I shook it. We were in hearing distance of the car by then, and everyone was waiting for us, so the conversation ended there.

"Take your sweet time," Chad called. "It's not like any of us have anything to do. At least, I know that I don't have anything more important to do than stand outside in the heat waiting for you two to stroll across the parking lot. Because, as we all know, my life revolves around you, Troysie." Troy chuckled and unlocked the car.

"You're in the back, Chaddie," he called in return, moving towards the driver's side of the car. "Brie gets shotgun on the way home." I waited for Zeke and Jason to file into the back before dropping my bag on the floor and hopping into the passenger-side seat. Glancing at Chad in the rearview mirror sandwiched in the middle, I wiggled around in the seat.

"It's so comfortable and _spacious_ up here in the front."

"Shut up," he grunted, kicking lamely at the back of my seat. I stuck my tongue out and turned around, fiddling with the radio as Troy fastened his seatbelt.

"Now, Gabriella," he said sternly, "What have we said about teasing Chad?" I shrugged and he sighed melodramatically. "He's simple minded and doesn't understand. So…"

I played along and looked down at my lap. "Don't tease him, I know, I know."

"If you're done with your sick and twisted game out house or mommy or whatever now, can we please leave?"

"I think someone's a little cranky…" Zeke joined, ruffling Chad's hair.

"Well the only reason I'm cranky is because of your stupid friend," he growled, hitting me in the shoulder. "Can't you have normal friends?"

"And that's coming from you," Jason muttered, fishing around in the pouch on the back of the car seat for something.

"Oh, come on," Chad shouted, "Didn't anyone else thing that she was insanely annoying?" Troy and Zeke shrugged their shoulders at him. "You guys are all completely oblivious." He continued muttering to himself and Troy reached over to flick my knee.

I glanced at him and he mouthed, 'Told you so,' at me.

Groaning to myself, I pulled a dollar out of my bag and placed it in Troy's open palm. Casually, he stuffed it into his pocket and smirked, staring out the front windshield.

-x-

-x-

After he dropped everyone else off at home, Troy and I hung out at his house for a little while. Actually, we seem to do that a lot after school. My mom comes home around four o'clock, so I'll usually spend the hour after school ends hanging out at Troy's house with him, and sometimes I'll run into his mom, too. Lucille (Mrs. Bolton, for those who aren't quite as closely affiliated with Troy's family as I am) is always trying to feed me. It's gotta be a mom thing. The second we walk in the front door, she stuffs some type of food into our hands. So we pig out for a little while and then we go outside and play around with the basketball for a little while.

Honestly, I love hanging out with Troy. I love joking around and being an idiot with him. I never – not ever – have to hide anything from him. Sometimes I have to watch what I say around Chad because (you might have noticed that) he has a temper. Troy and I have the ability to coexist peacefully. Even when we don't agree, we respect each other's opinions. (And when I say that, I mean that he grabs me, throws me to the ground, and tickles me relentlessly until I agree with him. But I don't mind.)

Maybe Chad and Jason were onto something. Maybe Troy really is my favorite.

Lucille wasn't home when we got there, so we just got a bag of chips and a few sodas and brought them up into his tree house, and we sat outside for a while, our feet dangling over the edge. He built it with his dad. The thing is insanely sturdy. Once, when we were little, our parents said that we could camp out in it. We had candy and soda and all sorts of chips and pretzels, and we had blankets and sleeping bags and flashlights. We probably made it to about two A.M. before we realized how creepy it looked at night. We stuck it out until three thirty, and then he raced to the ladder. Jack went back up to get our sleeping backs and crumpled candy wrappers,

I grabbed a few Doritos and bit one in half, chewing pensively. "So you were right about the Taylor thing," I said, swallowing roughly, "But how long do you think it's going to take for him to psyche himself up, or whatever?"

He kicked his legs and put down his soda can. "I don't know. It kind of depends."

"On what? How big his ego is?" He laughed and shook his head, stealing a chip out of my hand.

"Well," he said, chewing loudly, "If he gets a lot of enjoyment out of fighting with her, it might take a while because he'll start prolonging it. He'll want to fight with her for as long as possible, you know?" I nodded. "But," he backpedaled, "It also depends on how willing she is to fight with him." I popped the top of my Sprite, staring at him intently. "If she doesn't mind the fighting and enjoys it as much as him, everything goes according to plan and their dating within a month at the most. If she refuses to acknowledge him, everything blows up in his face and he sinks into depression and it takes him 'til senior year."

"Depression. Really."

"Okay, fine, that was overdramatic. But seriously, there's no telling how long we could be stuck listening to him talking about how terrible she is. There are too many variables."

"Ooh, nice math term." I took a long gulp of soda. "Eh, he might sink into a depression anyway. I don't think she'll say yes if he does ask her out."

"Why not?"

"She thinks he's a moron."

He snorted, "No, duh."

"I don't even know if I would want them to go out. Knowing Taylor, she would probably kill his spirit or crush his soul or something, and Chad would drive her crazy with his disorganization and never yielding appetite. They're complete opposites."

He kicked my foot, chuckling at me. "Sure, it's a little weird, but if she could make him happy, wouldn't you want them to be together? Wouldn't you want your friends to be happy?"

"But she wouldn't make him happy," I pointed out, "They would make each other miserable. Any relationship that they would have would be completely dysfunctional."

"Not necessarily. Think about it this way. You and I both think that having a relationship where you're fighting all the time would be torturous, right?" I nodded. "Right, but maybe Chad and Taylor would prefer a relationship where they are constantly being challenged and they always have to be on their toes. It would create tension."

"And the tension could be considered passion and blah, blah, blah… You're a genius." I rolled my eyes. He laughed, running a hand through his hair, and I felt myself smiling. "Hey, maybe you and I should date, too, since we seem to have the same policies," I joked, and he laughed again, grabbing for his soda.

"Yeah, maybe." He reached out and ruffled my hair. "I wouldn't mind being tied to you." I looked away and blushed, biting down hard on my bottom lip. Turning back to him and grinning, I snatched the tortilla chip from between his fingers and popped it into my mouth.

"Back at'cha, Bolton."

-x-

-x-

**Author's Note:** There are very few words that I can use to express how sorry I am to those reading this story for the sporadic updates. I'm pretty much convinced that almost everyone has forgotten about this story because of the huge gaps between chapters. I do have good news though. I have _MG_ planned out from beginning to end and I know exactly what I have to write. Now it's just a matter of finding the time to write it and getting it proofread. I'm hoping to get some serious writing done this week while I'm on break from school. This chapter was a lot about setting up for some of the stuff that's going to happen in the next couple of chapters of the story. We're going to see a little bit more of Briton and go a little more into the feelings that seem to be developing on Gabriella's side, and there might possibly be a little bit of a jealous Troy.

Major shout-out to Isabelle for not only being my proofreader but being the person who keeps yelling at me, driving me, and introducing me to inspiring songs to help me write before I spend the next twelve years working on the same story. Thanks Izzy-fizzy-licious-ness!

Reviews and constructive criticism are appreciated - even though I really don't deserve them for being such a terrible author with updates. Happy Easter to those celebrating tomorrow and happy spring break to those who are just chillaxing for a week!


	10. The Encounter

**-CHAPTER NINE-**

**-****Thursday-**

**-The Encounter (Altercation)-**

_Troy gets himself into trouble a lot. He means well, but he sort of epic fails more often than not. He's got a big mouth, somewhat of a short temper, and a mean right hook. (But I already told you that.) He doesn't know how to walk away from a confrontation, either. Not a serious one, anyway. He has no problem ignoring me when I yell at him for snooping around in my room and trying to break into my email account or edit the information of any type of profile I have to say that I want to 'sex him really bad.' But the second he breathes the same air as Briton Walker, it's as though a switch flips in his head. Usually I don't mind that he's determined to fight with Briton, but when I see the signs that he's going to get me into trouble I being to worry. And, believe me, getting me into trouble is something that Troy is exceptionally good at. He has a good face for it. The 'I'm-So-Adorable-Don't-Turn-Me-Down' face. I'm a sucker for it._

-x-

-x-

I was being a good girl. I printed out my English homework. I wrote out my history paragraph. I got out my textbook and psyched myself up for math homework. Then I realized that it was way too quiet in my room and that I was hungry, so I ran downstairs into the kitchen and searched for a snack in the cabinets, dancing around in circles and humming to myself while the cheddar popcorn popped in the microwave. Yeah, they make cheddar microwave popcorn, and, yeah, it's awesome. I then proceeded to burn my hand on the bag as I poured it into a bowl, and I nearly cracked my head open—and spilled all the popcorn—as I went back upstairs. So I had to begin the process all over. And then, once the snack was safely situated on my nightstand, I started searching for my iPod, which had mysteriously disappeared from the player in my room.

By the time I finally got myself situated, snack at the ready and music blasting, I had managed to lose an hour of my day. And my math homework was still hanging over my head. But I was determined not to stay up late. I was going to finish my math homework before I did another thing.

It's curious why, with that mentality, I was so happy to hear the rapping on my balcony doors. I didn't bother to move from the bed, just waving him inside as I leaned back against the headboard, crossing my legs. That's probably one of the only times that he's knocked. Usually he just barges in. That's probably why he's seen me half-naked so many times. But that's extremely off-topic and another story entirely.

He looked antsy. "Oh, damn, you're still doing homework." He closed the door with his foot and slouched.

"Yup," I sighed, tossing my pencil down. "What's up?"

"I'm done with mine. And we're not having dinner for at least another hour. And my dad's busy with something, so I don't wanna just shoot free-throws by myself. And I'm bored." He didn't kick off his shoes like he usually did, but he sat down on the foot of my bed. Sighing, he fell back against the mattress and closed his eyes. I began solving the first question with my calculator as he reached out and poked my foot, shifting it away from his head. I was boxing my third answer when he sat up again. "Do you wanna go for a walk?"

"Hello? Math homework."

"Uh… hello? You're a genius. What is it?" He grabbed my notebook and read the assignment, "Nine problems, three of which you already did. You could finish that in, like, ten minutes. Come for a walk with me." He started closing my textbook and notebook, tossing them onto my pillow. I reached for them, and he slapped my hands away. I slapped him back.

"No, I want to finish this now. Besides, walks are boring."

"Thanks. I'm glad you think so highly of spending time with me." That was where he almost lost me. He knows that I'm constantly ditching other stuff to spend time with him. The amount of time I spend with him in a given week is practically insane. It's at least ridiculous.

"You know what I mean. We live in an extremely boring neighborhood. The sights that you see are boring."

"Please, please, please… I'm so bored…" He pouted and I sighed. I was defeated. I mean, come on. It's the pout. You can't blame me.

"Can we at least walk around the park?"

"Deal. I'll bring the basketball, you bring the water bottles!" He jumped towards the doors.

"Wait a second!" I called, scrambling off the bed as he hopped over the railing and into the tree. "Why are we going to the park to play basketball? We could just play in your backyard."

"A change of scenery is always nice, don't you think? Plus, two-on-two is more fun. And you should probably change." I sighed.

"Fine, but you're getting the tiny Poland Spring bottle. Not the big one." He grinned.

"Yeah, right. I'll meet you out front."

He disappeared into the tree, and I stared after him as he darted through my backyard and through the fence separating the two properties. I closed my balcony doors and moved towards my dresser, rooting through the bottom drawer for a pair of basketball shorts. I found a tank top, too. I wasn't really too happy with it, but I was too lazy to actually look for a t-shirt. After I changed, I went into the basement to try and find those huge Poland Spring bottles that they make. We had about forty in the refrigerator down there. I'm always in charge of bringing the water, so my mom started buying in bulk.

Troy and I have this thing we do sometimes. It's kind of lame, but we do it anyway, and we usually enjoy ourselves. We go to the park with a basketball and we scope it out. We check to see if there are any other people playing on the basketball courts, and if there are we go over there. We pretend like he's teaching me how to play for the first time. And because we usually run into egotistical teenaged boys, they're more than happy to accept the challenge of a two-on-two game against a girl who 'doesn't know what she's doing.' Then we whoop their butts, shake their hands (the sportsmanlike people that we are), and go home to scarf down dinner.

When I got back upstairs, my mom was sitting the in living room, hunched over the coffee table clipping coupons. I guess she was off the 'we-import-everything-expensive' kick. She probably hasn't talked to Mrs. Evans today.

"You're going to the park?" she clarified, squaring the corner of a three-for-five soda coupon. "With Troy, I assume?"

"Yup," I said, retrieving my phone from the end table and stuffing it deep into my pocket. "We'll be back in, like, an hour. Troy's having dinner at some point in the semi-near future, and I'm assuming we are, too."

"Crab cakes?" she suggested, "I don't really feel like going all out tonight. I'll defrost those and make some rice or broccoli."

"Ooh, cheesy broccoli?"

She chuckled and nodded her head. "Would I make you anything else?" I smiled.

"Troy's outside. I'll be back soon."

"Take your cell. And tell that boy that if he doesn't start providing his own water, I'm going to charge him for it." I laughed, and opened the front door, carefully balancing the two water bottles beneath my one arm.

"Will do, mom." She says the same thing every time. I've yet to see him pay a dime. She loves him too much, that's the problem. True, he makes her nervous. As I have said before, she kind of hates that I only have male friends. But she also kind of accepts that that's just how it is. Hence the reason for the so-dubbed 'care packages' that travel to everyone's houses at the end of the month, typically containing several pairs of boxers, shorts, and a few t-shirts that snuck their way into the laundry basket.

When I got out to the curb, Troy was waiting for me with the basketball resting between his feet. His back was hunched slightly as he sat on the edge of the lawn, and I was briefly distracted by the way his shoulder blades looked through his white t-shirt. That doesn't bode well for us. We may actually lose because I'll be so distracted by how he looks playing basketball. I never thought I'd be that kind of girl. Damn it. But I guess it happens to all girls. Except lesbians because they probably don't spend too much time looking at their best guy friend's body saying, "Damn I want that" because they don't really want _any_ guy.

"Jeez, take your time there, Brie." I tossed the water bottle at him and grabbed the basketball off the cement, gesturing for him to stand up. He held out his hand and I rolled my eyes, pulling him to his feet.

"Thanks, I will. You asked me to come. You have to wait for me to be ready."

"Well then, thank God you're not a girl."

Pause. Rewind. Say what, now? _"Well then, thank God you're not a girl."_ That's what I thought he said. So basically, to him, I'm a man with boobs. How sweet. You know, _Troy_, just because I don't dress like a slut doesn't mean I suddenly start growing different reproductive parts.

"Excuse me?"

"You know," he shrugged. "A girlie girl. Like Sharpay. Or any other girl at school. It would take you forever to get ready. It would be dark before you even came out of the house between all the makeup crap and the color-coordination. Plus," he added, "You wouldn't even want to play with me anymore because you'd start being afraid of breaking a nail."

I snorted. "Please. My nail-beds are history. Lookit. They're all stumpy."

"Yeah… I don't really care."

"Oh, shut up." We crossed the street and headed towards the intersection that led towards the park. He tried to trip me in the middle of the street, and I nearly got hit by a car. That would have been a fun phone conversation: _Hey mom, can you come pick me up before you defrost the crab cakes? Troy tripped me and I got hit by a truck. Where am I? Oh, I'm at the hospital. Nothing major, just a few stitches and a broken leg or two._

The park was almost deserted when we walked through the gates. There were a few really little kids running around on the playground, and this one little girl kept screaming that she was a pirate and that she had to catch the fairy, or something. Past the jungle gyms, there were a couple of people hanging around in the outfield and tossing a ball between bases.

As we started walking down the narrow pathway leading towards the tennis and basketball courts, Troy began scoping out prospective opponents. "Okay, what about the two guys over there?" he suggested as we move closer, gesturing discretely in the direction of the farthest court. I spotted two people shooting free throws. "I haven't seen them before. And they look like they could potentially know what they're doing."

I shrugged, "Sure. As long as they don't' totally suck, I'm all for it. It's no fun to beat someone who can't play anyway. Then it's just like kicking them when they're down. It's like, 'Oh look, I'm no good either. Pause. Mwahh haa haa. Even a loser like me can beat you!' That's just cruel." We worked our way towards the basketball court and Troy took the basketball out of my hands, beginning to dribble it as we walked. I piled our stuff on the bench, and then we headed through the fence.

Troy's incessant dribbling seemed to have caught their attention and they glanced our way as we stood near the hoop. He tossed me the basketball and winked, gesturing at the spot for me to stand. He came up behind me and stood extremely close to me, his hands coming forward to cup mine as they held the ball tightly.

He put his mouth near my ear and whispered softly, "Are you ready for this?"

Now, it totally wasn't my fault that right after that I let out this typically valley-girl flirty giggle. It really wasn't. Okay. When whispering into someone's ear, it automatically tickles. It just does. That's how it works. And when I get tickled, I'm not gonna be laughing like a guy. I'm just not. There will be no "Ho ho ho's" coming from me. You're going to get a squeal. And it's going to be a flirty sounding one, because that's just the way my tickle-giggle sounds.

So I was squirming around in his arms, and he realized that it tickled. And, being the jerkface that Troy likes to be sometimes, he starts tickling me intentionally. There we are on the basketball court, me frantically clutching a basketball to my chest and squealing at the top of my lungs, and Troy hugging me to him as his fingers dig into my ribcage.

"Teaching your girlfriend, man?" Troy stopped tickling me, and I blinked when the two guys finally acknowledged us, gasping for air. That was a new one. I never played the girlfriend part before. Troy smirked at me and turned around, nodding at the guy who spoke as he smiled with fake sheepishness.

"She said she wanted to learn, so I figured there was no harm in a few lessons." He wrapped an arm around my waist from behind and gently jostled me. "She's been getting better lately. Haven't you?" I shrugged my shoulders and twirled the ball between my hands.

"Good enough for that two-on-two game you promised me?" I hinted, and he laughed, winking at me again.

"I guess."

One of the guys stepped forward. "Hey, uh, you wanna play against us?"

"I don't know," Troy smiled at me. "You up for it, baby?"

"Sure," I said, nodding my head and handing over the basketball. "It'll be fun!"

"I'm Justin," the taller guy said, holding out his hand to me. We all introduced ourselves. They were Justin and G.I. (Yes, before you ask, his real name was Joe.) We were Troy and Gabriella.

Now, I'd go into detail. I really would. I'd describe with stunning detail the manner in which Troy and I cut the guys asses off, whipped them, and returned them on silver platters because we're _just_ _that good._ I'd reiterate the way the ball passed between our fingertips as we ran down the court, tossing it back and forth as we went, the gorgeous swish that filled my ears when it sailed through the hoop—nothing but net. I'd tell you about how we blocked nearly every shot they took and how they just couldn't seem to catch me, their slack-jawed looks making me chuckle as I grabbed rebound after rebound. I'd also tell you about the times when Troy got a little sweaty, pulled up his shirt, and wiped his face on it, exposing his abs in the process. But I don't think I will, because I think that that might be a little disrespectful. So I'll just say that Troy and I… did well.

But then it happened. Right after we… did well, it happened. I don't know why he did it, but he did. We were celebrating, Troy and I were. The two guys were kind of staring at us in a semi-annoyed stupor, but we were celebrating anyway. He gave me a high-five. That was normal. But then he did something else, Troy did.

He barely managed to squeeze out a brief "Congrats" beforehand, and then he grabbed my face and kissed me.

Before you say or think anything, let me just tell you right now.

I didn't hate it.

And let me tell you something else.

That boy can _kiss_.

Why he did it? No idea. Why I didn't put up a fight? Um… can you blame me? (No. You can't.)

And then he stopped, his hands dropped away from me and he stared. So then I held onto the sides of his face while we kissed again. One of my hands moved to his hair, actually, and I felt my back arching up against him. It was like an uncontrollable reflex… type… thing. My feet shuffled closer to him, and his arms tightened around my waist, gripping firmly at my shirt. And when it ended, I didn't let go, and neither did he. We sort of stared at each other for a while, again, only longer. (And those two guys were still watching us which kind of made it incredibly awkward. Or at least more incredibly awkward than it needed to be.)

"Well…," he said suddenly, looking down as we pulled away from each other. Well. Well. That's what he said. He randomly kisses me like that—let's emphasize _randomly_—and then just says _well_. But, then again, what do you say to your best friend after you've randomly and spontaneously just kind of made out in the middle of the basketball court at the local part in front of two strangers that you just creamed in a game of two-on-two who mistakenly believe that you're dating? I guess a "Well…" would about sum it up, huh.

"You know what?" I said, and my voice was much shakier than I would have liked. "I'm going to… I'm gonna go get some water." He looked up and me and nodded.

"O-Okay. That sounds good. Water."

I nodded back, tugging at the hem of my shirt. "Water."

"Yeah," he breathed. "Good. Water."

I blinked and then started. "Right… So… Water."

"Water."

"Okay." We stared at each other for another few seconds, and then I turned and ran off the court. I barely heard the two guys calling for Troy and asking him what exactly just happened because I was too busy groaning and falling back against the fence in embarrassment. Honestly, what the hell just happened? I mean, I understood the basketball game way better than Justin and G.I. (real name Joe) did, but I mean… come on! He just kissed me! Spontaneously! And without explanation! And how many times did I just say water?

Picking the Poland Spring bottle up off the ground, I took a long swig and sloppily wiped my mouth on the back of my hand. I glanced over my shoulder again and found Troy, centered in one of the little diamonds of the metal fence, shaking hands with Justin and G.I. (real name Joe) and chuckling lightly.

I heard applause. "Very nice, Montez."

Fuck my life. The world wants me to suffer and die before I'm twenty.

"You displayed some serious skills right there, Montez. Very impressive, very impressive." I shot him a glare. I don't have the brain power to both analyze Troy's actions and deal with annoying and overaggressive quarterbacks. When I was little and Aaron would be bothering me, I used to pretend that I could snap my fingers and make him disappear. I found myself angrily snapping my fingers as Briton walked closer to me. Needless to say, it didn't work.

"What do you want, Briton? It's bad enough that you bother me at school, but now you're stalking me when I go to the park with my friends. Can't you find a girl your own age?" I smirked. "Or do they all want to vomit at the sight of you, too?"

He laughed, nodding his head as he moved to sit on the bench across from me. "Ah, just keep the insults coming. I like a girl who can think on her feet, Montez."

"Oh, is that because all the girls you've ever met can only think on their backs?"

He chuckled, shaking his head. "I hate to break it to you, but you're not pushing me away with all your snide remarks." I rolled my eyes and took another huge gulp of water. "Only making me want you more."

"Is this your sick way of wooing me?" I asked, lifting a foot to press back against the fence.

"No, that comes later. Expect black roses on your doorstep and dismembered heads in your mailbox."

I don't know why I did it. Maybe I was exhausted from the game, maybe I was dehydrated because I hadn't drank enough. I don't really know. That afternoon at the park was full of mysteries. A lot of stuff seemed to be happening for no reason whatsoever, and my brain was officially on full overload at that point, anyway. So Troy and his willy-nilly-kissing lips got pushed to the back for the moment, and I laughed. I full-out laughed. Briton said it with such a straight face that it just came off as being really funny, and I laughed. And then he laughed, and, before I knew it, we were laughing together.

"See? I told you I could win you over. Or make you laugh, at least." I rolled my eyes. But it wasn't really a 'you're-an-annoying-jerk-leave-me-alone' type eye roll. It was more of a 'come-on-stop-being-stupid' eye roll. It was kind of… friendly. Maybe I didn't have the energy to fight with him, or maybe I subconsciously didn't want to fight with him and the exhaustion helped me accomplish that. Either way, we weren't bickering.

"Is this your not-quite-so-mild-mannered alter ego?" I asked, twisting the cap onto my water bottle. "Because you don't talk to me like this at school. Honestly, you're kind of a bitchass."

He smiled and said, "You're never alone at school."

"Oh. So this _is_ your not-quite-so—"

"—mild-mannered alter ego. I get it." I felt my mouth curving into a smile. "Right."

"I'm not quite buying the whole… two personalities thing," I admitted. "The dual persona bit just isn't flying. I'm kinda getting the feeling that you're faking it, actually."

He didn't reply. Instead, he smiled at me. He stood and walked over, leaning against the fence right beside me and sliding his hands deep into his pockets. You know, Troy was standing that close to me when he decided to plant one on me. Briton slid his hands out of his pockets again and cocked his head to the side. "Hey, do you… do that a lot?"

"Do what?" I asked, glancing up at him.

He nodded backwards in Troy's direction. "That."

"Hang out with Troy? Yeah, sometimes, seeing as he's my best friend." I rolled my eyes at him again, but it was still in that borderline friendly way.

"No, I mean… the other thing."

"Oh." My eyes widened and I felt warmth creeping up my spine. "Oh, you saw the…" He nodded. "Sometimes. Not really. It's part of a game we play."

He smirked at me. "You're a little old for games, aren't you?" I looked away, fiddling with the cap on my water bottle. I glanced over my shoulder. Troy was still talking animatedly with the two guys on the basketball court.

"Ah ha. See, there's the Briton that I know. Or, actually, vaguely recognize." I shrugged. "It's harmless."

He rocked forwards onto the ball of his foot. "Yeah, but how am I supposed to take you out if I have to think about all the times when I'm not around that you're here at the park making out with Troy Bolton?"

I snorted. "You're not taking me out. Problem solved."

He chuckled at me. "Just wait, Montez. Just wait. You'll see. Just you wait for those roses. I'll win you over for real."

"Doubt it." I leaned back against the fence and he took half a step closer to me. I took another sip from my water bottle, and the cap slipped from between my fingers. Briton darted forwards and caught it.

He chuckled awkwardly and placed it in my palm, "I'm pretty good with my hands." His faced dropped and he began stammering, "Oh… I didn't mean… You know… Sorry." I nodded silently, trying to stifle a giggle, and brushed a few sweaty stands of hair away from my face. I couldn't hide my smile though, and he started chuckling, too.

"I know what you mean," I finally said, still giggling lightly. Twisting my foot back against the fence, I nodded my head slowly. "I've been to a few of your games, you know."

He looked surprised and turned towards me. "Seriously?" I could smell his aftershave. I'm not going to lie. He smelled pretty good. It made me feel really dirty. (And, no, not like that.) I was completely sweaty from the super intense game of basketball and probably didn't smell that great either. I wished he would step back a little so that he wouldn't end up smelling my sweat. I wanted a shower. And I wanted my hair to smell like peaches.

I nodded, leaning away from him slightly. "My brother used to take me to watch some of the games at the high school when I was younger. He kind of got me into it." His eyes were shining down at me. "Sometimes I would come down to watch a game or two this year."

"Did you make it to the homecoming game?" I smiled and looked down, shaking my head.

"Yes, I actually did, Mr. Touchdown-pass-at-the-last-second." He seemed skeptical, but I couldn't blame him. Everyone heard about _the_ Briton Walker and his phenomenal cross-field pass during the last seconds. "After which you tripped on a sinking spot on the field and fell down, disguising it rather nicely as you falling to your knees in victory."

He grinned. "You did come."

I found myself biting lightly on my bottom lip. "I guess you really are pretty good with your hands." His eyebrows rose and his smirk widened. "Just not your feet."

His face fell slightly, "Oh, ha, ha, ha."

That's when Troy must have finished his conversation and started paying attention to mine.

"Hey, fucker! Back the fuck off!"

-x-

-x-

_Let's just move directly into Troy's mind without any commentary from me. At this point, it would just be jumbled beyond comprehension._

- Troy's Take -

"Wanna explain to us what just happened?"

I heard them in the background, although vaguely, as I stepped towards Gabriella. Everything was kind of in slow motion. We'd just finished beating Justin and G.I. (real name Joe—how freaking awesome is that nickname?) in the game of two-on-two, and they had figured out that Gabriella was faking, but they still thought that she was my girlfriend. Funny, right? I mean, Gabriella isn't exactly my type. My type is more of the funny, adorable, borderline adorkable, sporty, let's-lay-around-in-sweatpants type.

Gabriella is… uhh… all of the above…

Well, you know what, that doesn't even matter. That's not the point.

The point is that I kissed Gabriella. Yeah, I know.

Oh, you want an explanation. Well. I. Don't. Have. One. Pick what you want: aneurism, adrenaline rush, dehydration, schizophrenia, temporary insanity. Whatever. It doesn't matter why. All that matters is that _I kissed Gabriella_. And then I stopped kissing Gabriella. And you know what happened? She kissed me back, and we started kiss. Do you see the difference? The first way, I was kissing Gabriella and she wasn't really putting up a fight. The second way, Gabriella was kissing back when our lips were touching. Do you know what that means? That means that she was kissing me back. That means that she was kissing me willingly. Which means that she wanted to kiss me. Now, I don't know how to read into kisses. I cannot honestly say that I have kissed a lot of girls. I haven't. I've kissed a fair few, including Gabriella, actually, but it's not like I walk down the hallways going, "Hey, lay one on me, baby!" I've probably kissed, like, three different girls my whole life, and they were serious kisses. Like, 'thanks for a lovely date night' kisses. Well, okay, the ones with Gabriella weren't because they were usually stupid dares or something. But the other ones were.

I fucking hate it when I ramble. Anyway, I don't know how to be kissed, or give someone a kiss, and understand what it means. So that means that I don't know if she had an aneurism, adrenaline rush, was dehydrated, was temporarily insane, or just felt like making out with me in the park. And that fucking sucks. Because now there's a freaking random fluttery thing inside my effing stomach and it could be there just because Gabriella's flipping brain decided to bleed!

But no matter why it was there, it was suddenly there. Easily explained, right? Pretty girl (remember my discovery?), hot weather, excessive adrenaline from winning the game, a long kiss. Those are some very good reasons for a guy's stomach to start getting all fluttery, right? …RIGHT? Oh, who the fuck am I kidding, WRONG. So, so, wrong! What the hell is wrong with me? I'm not allowed to have a fluttering stomach after kissing Gabriella! I've kissed her before, and I've never had this problem! Why am I having this problem now? Why? WHY?

Gabriella started blathering on about getting water, or something, my mouth was responding to her without consulting my brain first, and before I knew it, she had already run off. I stared after her as she glanced back at me quickly and I felt my fingers twitching at my side.

"Uh, Troy, man… What just happened?" I blinked and turned to stare at Justin and G.I. "I mean… That chick is fucking awesome."

I blinked again. "Yeah. Yeah, she is."

"Yeah," Justin chuckled, "You got us pretty good. G.I. thought it was gonna be pretty easy to cream you two. I have never seen a chick that good. Where did you find her?" He whistled. "I have got to get me one of those. She seriously your girlfriend?"

"Yup, she's taken." Lie.

"Damn. I bet she cleans up pretty nice, huh. I mean, she makes a damn sexy opponent, but I bet she can work a miniskirt just fine."

I laughed, "Yeah, her legs are pretty killer." Lie. Alright. I feel dirty saying that. Not only have I never, in my life, seen Gabriella wear a miniskirt, but she's my best friend and I'm standing in the park gossiping like a little girl about how sexy her legs are. I've never _looked_ at her _legs_. Not like that, anyway. Although… her calves are pretty nice… and her knees are, too… and her skin is really soft…

"Man, forget her legs." G.I. smirked. "Focus on—" Justin elbowed him and smiled awkwardly at me. I knew that smile. That was the 'pardon my buddy for being an asshole' smile. That was the 'he's about to say something insanely inappropriate about some part of your girlfriend's body and I really cannot get him to shut up and more subtly so please don't force the cartilage in my nose to meet the bone at the back of my skull' smile. I don't like that smile.

"Ignore him," he insisted as my eyes narrowed. "He's a moron." He hissed something at G.I. about being disrespectful and then turned back to me. He ran a hand through his hair, glancing around the park. "So, uh, where do you go to school?"

I nodded my head to the left. "East. It's over that way. You?"

"Our parents were suckered into all the prep school crap. Uniforms and everything. And the basketball team sucks. The only thing that anyone cares about there is Ivy League." I nodded. You know, I bet Gabriella will get into an Ivy League school. Christina was always talking about Harvard and Yale.

"Hey, you should feel lucky. Half of the kids at East High aren't going to go much farther than U of A." Like me, for instance. My dad has talked to me about the University of Albuquerque since I was seven.

Justin laughed, "Man, I know at least fifty kids who would kill to have an athletics program like East High. The Wildcats are legendary." I like the sound of that. It's pretty much a lie because the reputation doesn't really make it any farther than a twenty mile radius, but I like it. Legendary. _And on February seventh Troy Bolton led the Wildcats to a victory worthy of the record books._ Oh yes. Legendary. Historical. Wicked awesome.

"Well, you know," I couldn't really help boasting a little. They brought it on themselves. Legendary. "The Knights don't exactly make it difficult." G.I. chuckled and nodded his head.

"Man, I wish we had girls like Gabriella at our school." Okay, dude officially has a one-track mind. I think he needs a new track. "All the girls there are total bitches. Wouldn't touch 'em with a seventy foot pole."

Justin snorted, "Yeah, that's why you were sucking on Tracy Lambert's tongue last Friday, right?"

"Shut up," he retorted, "That bitch is fucking fine. She's got an ass like nothing else."

"Dude," I felt my nose wrinkling. "I think you should keep the rest of the details to yourself."

G.I. smirked at me. "Don't mind if I do." Justin laughed, and I did, too, but I realized that the conversation was fading.

Now, speaking of Gabriella… Where did she go?

Oh. She was just over there talking to Briton.

Pause.

_What?_

My head snapped to the side, completely blocking out Justin and G.I., and I stared at her. He was standing next to her, both of them leaning back against the fence, and he was standing just a little too close for my taste. Not to mention, it's a little inappropriate for my girlfriend to be flirting with another guy—especially that guy—right in front of me. You know. Hypothetically. Because Justin and G.I. are still standing right here. You know.

"Uh, you know what, I have to go," I said slowly, cradling the basketball beneath my arm. "But, uh, it was nice meeting you guys. Maybe we'll run into each other again." They both nodded, saying goodbye as I moved away. Turning towards the benches, my eyes narrowed.

"Hey, fucker!" I called, stalking towards the gate. "Back the fuck off!" Briton's head turned towards me and I saw him roll his eyes, mumbling something to Gabriella before I was within hearing range. Gabriella's body snapped as she stood up, leaving Briton leaning against the fence alone. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"It's a free country, Bolton. I can be at the park if I wanna be."

"Oh, I can make sure you're at the park permanently. In a five-foot hole in the sandbox, buried up to your fucking neck."

"Troy," Gabriella reached out and grabbed onto my arm. "Calm down." My eyes snapped to hers before glancing down at the spot where her hand was searing against my skin. It felt like it was burning. She started, pulling her hand away, and I almost expecting to see finger-shaped burns on my forearm. Her mouth moved silently before she stammered, "Just calm down, okay?"

"Yeah, Troy-boy." Briton smirked at me, shifting so that his body was positioned behind Gabriella's. One of his hands disappeared behind her back. Call me paranoid, but he was definitely touching her on either her butt or her lower back. Honestly, I didn't really care where it was. I was going to kick his ass either way. Gabriella was staring at me and didn't notice him move, but I thought that I saw her shiver slightly. He could deny it all he wanted, but I saw the way he was eyeing her. "Calm the fuck down." Blinking, she threw a glare at him over her shoulder. But she didn't move away. Which was annoying. When a psycho-stalker is standing behind you and touching your butt, you move away. And then you allow your best friend to break his nose. It's simple. She has legs. She should use them. I have fists. She should let me use them.

I grabbed her arm and moved her out of the way, stepping up to Briton. He was sneering down at me. Smug six-foot-whatever bastard. "How about I calm down when you stop harassing my friends, Walker?"

"Who said anything about harassment?" he chuckled, gesturing widely at Gabriella, "Montez and I were having a nice chat, weren't we?" She rolled her eyes at him, but she didn't say anything. Instead, she crossed her arms and moved back to lean against the fence. He was smirking down at her. "Looks like I'm not the only bipolar one here." Then he looked back at me. "Bolton—"

"Maybe you should leave now," she cut in harshly, fixing a stern look on him. Their eyes connected. Needless to say, I did not like that. They had what some over-analytical girls might define as 'a moment' and I was not pleased with it. There should be no moments. None whatsoever. _Uh, I have a package for a Mr. Moment? Oh, sorry, no moment here. Move along._

"Chillax, Gabriella," Briton chuckled again. "We're just having some good old manly fun."

"We're not at school," she snapped, glancing between us. How nice to be included. "You get in a fight here and you get in trouble with the cops, not Mr. Matsui. So go." How thoughtful of her to protect him from the police. Now, personally, I wouldn't mind circulating a copy of 'Briton Walker: Deranged Senior: The Mug Shot' around school. It would be no trouble to me.

I thought he would put up a fight. I thought he would call her a name or two and then get back to being a jackass. To say that I was surprised when cocked an eyebrow at her and stepped back was a severe understatement. I mean, he just left. Well, that's not entirely true. He had to get the last word in first. But it wasn't to me.

"Montez," he called over his shoulder once he'd made it a few feet, not slowing his steps as he turned to walk backwards. "How do you know which one I'm faking?" And then he went his merry way. I hope his merry way includes falling in a deep well onto several dozen metal spikes. I blinked and turned to Gabriella. She had this look on her face. I _loathe_ the look she had on her face.

It was this half-smile half-utterly-confused mishmash. It was like he'd given her this riddle or something and she was all enthusiastic about solving it, but she was still morbidly confused about how to go about solving it. Plus, it was like they had some private inside joke. Gabriella and Briton Walker should not, under any circumstances, have inside jokes. I won't allow it. I forbid it.

"Why do you have to antagonize him?" she asked softly, sipping her water.

Gaping at her, I yelped, "Me? How is this my fault?"

"He wasn't bothering anybody." Noticing the look on my face, she continued. "Except me, I mean."

"Well then," I drawled sarcastically, "Just let me know next time that Briton's being a tolerable asshole. I'll make sure to kiss my distance from you."

Her eyes widened. "What?"

"Keep my distance."

"No," she laughed nervously, "You said kiss. I heard you."

Brain freeze—and not the good/bad kind you get from ice cream. The panic kind. The 'holy shit' kind. The 'not looking forward to this conversation' kind. There's no way out for me. I'm doomed. Doomed to talk about my feelings with the pretty girl I just kissed. God damn it.

Shit.

Well. This means there's only one this to do. Deny, deny, deny. "No, no I didn't. Why would I say kiss? There was no reason for me to say kiss. I said keep. I very clearly said keep. Very clearly. I annunciated."

"Yes. You annunciated," she said, pointing at me. "You annunciated when you said kiss." Gah, she called my bluff.

"I didn't say kiss," I insisted, the panic settling in the pit of my stomach. What kind of mistake was that to make? My mouth just decided to stop working suddenly? Effing subconscious.

She stared at me and then began laughing somewhat crazily. "You kissed me." I knew going in this direction was somewhat inevitable, but _why?_

"Yeah… I know."

"Yeah, but see, you kissed me."

I grasped weakly for anything to say before sighing. "Yeah. I know." She stared at me.

"I'm going to need a little explanation."

"You kissed me, too, you know," I pointed out to her. "I kissed you the first time, but you kissed me the second time."

She swallowed nervously. "But you kissed me first." I nodded slowly. I had nothing to say. Well, that's a lie. I had plenty to say. None of it would have made her feel any better about what just happened though. "Why did you kiss me?"

I shrugged my shoulders wordlessly. And then I offered the only explanation that seemed available. "I was caught up in the moment." She blinked at me and I shifted my weight from my right foot to my left. "We won and I was excited and we were pretending to be boyfriend and girlfriend—"

"Yeah, we're not doing that again."

I nodded slowly, "And I just sort of… went with it."

"Caught in the moment," she repeated softly, and I nodded again. Then she smiled. "Thank God. For a second there I thought—"

"—that I—"

"—like… liked me, or something." I laughed and she smiled, picking up the basketball and beginning down the path. "I was like, whoa, down boy." Um, ouch. I shouldn't have been surprised that she shoved all the blame onto me. Hello? Did she miss the part where she kissed me, too?

"Wait," I stopped. "Why'd you kiss _me_? I mean, like, why didn't you slap me or something?"

She shrugged at me. "I didn't really consider slapping you as an option." She seemed to be hesitating as she spoke. "I felt… in the moment." She nudged my shoulder. "We could totally kiss again right now. It's no big deal. It would be a little odd seeing as we're best friends and probably shouldn't get too used to making out all the time, but it wouldn't be a big deal."

"That wasn't making out," I argued. "There wasn't even tongue. That was like a friendly smooch."

She blinked at me. "Deja vu. We've done this before. You complained about the PDA detention, too. Have you ever even considered the idea of not wanting to make out with me?"

Harsh, no? What is she trying to say? I'm not allowed to want… stuff? If someone convicts me of having robbed the bank and I go to prison for twenty years even though I was totally innocent, I'm going to be damn pissed that I didn't even get to rob a bank! I mean, come on. The judicial branch of our government knows that! Have you never heard of 'innocent until proven guilty'? So, yeah, that's right, Gabriella! The government wanted PDA and some tongue!

"I don't want to make out with you," I said. "I just don't think it's fair of you to accuse me of making out with you when all I did was give you a little peck on the lips." She laughed at me.

"That wasn't just a peck on the lips. It was a little more intense than that."

"Oh, look who's talking now. It sounds like someone was a little more into it than she'd like me to believe!"

"No way," she argued. "Like I said, we could _totally_ kiss right now and it would be no big deal." I rolled by eyes and she frowned. "What?"

"It would so not be no big deal."

"So would." Grabbing my face, she planted another kiss on my lips. Right there, in the middle of the park! She just… grabbed me! It didn't last very long though. And there was still no tongue. Not even a little. Not even a tiny bit that just casually brushed over my lips. Not a damn brush-over. You know, she's really on a roll. Next think you know she'll be leaving condoms all around my bedroom for my parents to find. And I can tell you right now that we won't be having sex!

But what I really want to know is where the hell she got so good at making out—no, kissing people. Who's the little bastard that she's been practicing with?

Not that I care. Even though I just said I did.

…I lied. That's all.

…Anyway.

"See?" she said. Her voice was all high and squeaky. "No big deal." When she turned away, I licked my lips and nodded.

"Totally." And _no_, Gabriella, my voice was _not_ all high and girly like yours.

It was more of a manly squeak.

-x-

-x-

When I got back to my house, I took a shower as a courtesy to my mother and then retreated into my bedroom for the few minutes I had left before dinner. I closed the door, braced myself, and then I had a very important conversation.

"I trust you. You know that. And I need a little advice. Here's the thing. I don't think that it was no big deal." He didn't say anything. "She's a good buddy and I love her to death as such a good buddy, obviously," I defended awkwardly, keeping my voice hushed, "But that was really weird. I've kissed her before for dares and all those stupid annoying games of spin the bottle that some loser inevitably starts no matter where you are, but it was never weird like that before. There were never fluttery things in my stomach before."

I rolled my eyes, "And it was not hormones. I don't even wanna go towards the idea of playing basketball and getting sweaty with Gabriella potentially exciting my hormones. We are staying away from that. Far away. So _don't_ go there." I hesitated and then cursed under my breath, glaring at him. "Damn it, you went there! Or you made _me_ go there!" I shook my head. "Alright, back on topic."

He looked thoughtful.

"Help me out, man. For sixteen years, or whatever, she has been my best friend. Buddies. Amigos. Chums. Pals." I leaned forward and dug my hands into my hair, tugging at the chunks between my fingers. "I have seen that girl do some unnatural things, man. I was there when we took that trip to Six Flags and she rode all the rollercoasters just fine but hurled after twice on the merry-go-round." I started up at him incredulously. "Dude, I watched two hotdogs, a cotton candy, and a box of popcorn—all partially digested—spew past her lips and splatter on the ground. I had to sit on the curb next to her and rub her back until Christina could get her a Coke to settle her stomach. I should not get butterfly-like feelings in my stomach when our lips touch. If anything," I exclaimed softly, "I should want a hotdog!"

Then I paused. "Well, I guess that's not _totally_ fair. She is pretty. She's pretty, right?" I took his silence as an affirmative. "Right. So it's natural that I, meaning my body, would like kissing a pretty girl. Which Gabriella is." I bit my lip. "But she didn't seem as in to it. I mean, it didn't look like she had fluttering in _her_ stomach."

I frowned. "Why does she not think I'm pretty? Uh, handsome, I mean. I'm pretty damn hot. I work out. I'm in the sun enough that I'm not all sickly pale. I think she's damn lucky to be kissing me all the time. Or… recently." He stared at me. "Right. This is off-topic. Gabriella makes me feel fluttery." I blinked. "Wow. That was extremely feminine. Accurate, but feminine."

The inspirational talk was not going the way I had planned.

"Look. Here's the deal. Lately, Gabriella has been messing with my head, and I don't think that she actually knows that she's been messing with my head. But either way, she's been messing with my head. And I need to straighten myself out." He stared at me. Again. "You're right," I shook my head. "You're totally right. I just need to stop thinking about Gabriella so much in these awkward ways and then we'll be free to randomly make out anytime we want without it being awkward." I hesitated, "I mean… Not that we'll be making out all the time… But we could… If we wanted to." He continued to stare. "You're right, you're right," I conceded, "I just have to stop."

My mom called me for dinner. I stood up and glanced around my bedroom, slapping his chest lightly to avoid denting the wall. "Thanks Jordan. You saved my ass once again." I shrugged apologetically, "I should'a listened. Be like Mike."

You'd be surprised how much of a good listener a poster can be.

"Honey," my mom said hesitantly, holding a pot in her hand as I emerged from by bedroom into the kitchen. "Were you talking to yourself in there?" I raised my eyebrows, shooting a glance towards my bedroom door.

"No."

"Oh, okay. I thought I heard your voice talking to… you."

"Nope."

"Oh," she said, practically slapping the pot down on the dining room table. "Gabriella left you a message saying that she accidentally took the basketball home and that it's on the back patio whenever you want to go and get it."

I nodded distractedly, staring down at my stomach and mentally chanting '_Gabriella, buddy, amigo_'.

Not a flutter.

_Thank you Michael Jordan_.

-x-

-x-

**Author's Note:** Alright! Chapter nine! I do have to apologize, however. This chapter would have been up two weeks ago, but finals week popped up and both I and my proofreader disappeared into our books. I would have felt uncomfortable posting it without her approval and rushed in between tests, so I waited. Sorry! I hope you can forgive me.

This was one of my favorite chapters to write so far, but I think there's one coming up that I'll also love writing. Part of it, I think, is Briton. A lot of people have expressed strong distaste for him in past chapters (and at that point I couldn't blame them), but I love him. Wooing with dismembered heads - it doesn't get much more romantic than that! If Troy ever learns to listen to that highly reliable fluttering and not to a 2-dimensional Michael Jordan, he could have some stiff competition for his lady love. The other part, of course, is the kiss! Oh, and the water conversation that takes place directly after because awkward is my favorite word (literally).

Okay, time to ask for the comments and constructive criticism! Writing is my passion - if you think there's a way I can be better, please share it!


	11. The Tryst

**-CHAPTER TEN-**

**-Friday-**

**-The Tryst (Lunch Date)-**

_Continuously making out in the park with Troy is probably not the best way to convince myself of the fact that his body isn't super fine. (Which it still is.) And making out with him again to prove that making out with him isn't a big deal is a terrible idea. I really should have had my head examined after that. I couldn't look my mother in the eyes when I got back to the house, especially not after she asked if Troy and I had a good time at the park. I was flushing red and getting all embarrassed. I couldn't really face Troy again that night, either. I accidentally took the basketball home and I had to leave it outside on the patio for him to get because I was too flustered to just go over to my best friend's house and give it back to him. I'm such a wuss. I don't even have the guts to fight with Briton anymore. Not really, anyway._

-x-

-x-

"…periods one, two, and six are canceled today. Sweet." Jason and I turned away from the closed classroom door and stood awkwardly for a moment before moving down the hall slowly, lightly bumping into people as we walked into the less busy intersection of two hallways. I opened my mouth to suggest we go to the gym or maybe hang out in the cafeteria, but he cut me off. "Hey, does Miss Yu have class this period?" I shook my head, and he instantly made a beeline for the other hallway before I could get a single syllable out of my mouth. "I'll catch you later," he called back at me. "I have to go talk to her about my last test grade. She said that I might be able to take a make-up exam. Maybe I can get it over with now before she sends the copy of that 41 percent home."

"Oh, I'll come—"

"Nah. You don't have to."

And that was that. After the bell rang the hallways cleared and I was left alone, wandering aimlessly through the hallway before finding myself standing in front of my locker. Now, I'm not really a clingy person. I can be on my own. I actually end up on my own a lot. Kind of. My mom ends up having late meetings a lot so I eat dinner alone and then hang out in my room and do homework or listen to music or go on the computer or sneak over into Troy's backyard and steal one of his basketballs practice free throws and such. I don't mind being left home alone, but, personally, being alone at school kind of makes me feel like a loser. I don't know why. Maybe it's because when I look around nobody else is ever alone, and this little thing in my brain goes 'Why can't _I_be so fun to hang around that I'm never alone and I can always find someone to talk with no matter where I am?' (But then the random people that I'm looking at do something really stupid and I'm suddenly reminded of why I really don't like many people. Wow. That makes me sound really… dark. Kittens! Rainbows! Lollipops! Actually, scratch that. I don't really like cats. Make it puppies!)

So there I was. Alone at my locker, staring at the boring creamy white paint as I redid my combination and put my math book away. Somewhere inside I knew that I was being a little (okay, very) overdramatic, but another part trumped that part, and I stood there being bitter and angry about being left alone to wallow in my distorted mind of loner-loserdom. Pulling out my iPod, I set it to shuffle and then stuffed it back in my pocket, because I didn't really have a preference towards what song was playing—I just wanted to hear another person's voice. (Although, when it started playing the Hamster Dance, I admit that I changed it. Helpful hint: never let Jason and Zeke play around with your iTunes program when you're still logged into your account at the iTunes store.)

I was a bit oblivious as I wallowed, I must say. I was blankly staring into my locker and wondering if there was any way for me to possibly organize it more (but there wasn't). I don't know how long I was staring before someone came up behind me and yanked one of the headphones out of my ear. I looked left for whoever did it—hoping that they were about to save my from my boredom—but found nobody, and when I turned to the left I nearly screamed, coming face to face with an overly enthusiastic grinning Briton. Thank you, fate. There is no better way to cheer up a wallowing-in-loner-loserdom Gabriella than to throw a cocky quarterback into her life! Seriously. Someone up there hates me.

"Gabriella." I groaned and turned away, letting my head fall forward against the door of my locker. Once again, I was being overdramatic. The vibrating thunk reverberated through the hallway, and I winced (because that metal was way harder than it had originally seemed) as Briton reached out to steady the shaking metal door. "I didn't know that you had off this period, too." Frowning and reaching up to gently massage the part of my skull that I was pretty sure I had just bashed in, I continued to root around in my bag, searching for a book that didn't exist.

"I don't," I replied tersely, taking out a dictionary that I didn't need and then stuffing it back on the shelf. "My math class got canceled today."

"Oh. Sweet. I've had, like, one canceled class all year. And it was gym so it was kind of whatever because we all ended up outside anyway." I closed my locker quietly, a bit disappointed that I wasn't able to slam it without risking getting yelled at by all the teachers nearby. Glancing down the hallway, I hoped to catch a glimpse of someone familiar, maybe on his way to the bathroom, but I had no such luck and turned around to find Briton looking down at me with an extremely stupid grin on his face. To be fair, although Briton rarely deserves fairness, it wasn't his fault that I was in such a crabby mood, and it wasn't really right for me to take out my bitterness on him. After all, I had been the one standing in the hallway looking all depressed and wanting someone to talk to. Technically, fate, or karma, was only doing her job. But Briton has an aura of annoyingness to begin with, Jason had left me by myself, and it felt like Briton was asking for it in my head.

"What do you even want?" I asked, adjusting the strap of my bag on my shoulder. "Why can't you just leave me alone? Are you this annoying with everyone you know?"

He shrugged lamely and stepped back as I pushed past him. "I was just saying hello."

"Well don't. Just leave me alone." I stalked down the hallway, but he followed me. He is in fairly decent shape, so I probably should have expected that he would be able to keep up with me, but that doesn't mean that it bothered me any less when he continued to walk beside me as though he didn't even notice that I was trying to get away from him. Why did I have to be so easily excitable? Maybe if I could control my temper a little better I wouldn't have problems like large obnoxious quarterbacks following me around in the hallways and making lists and stalking me at the park after school.

"Jeez," he scoffed, flicking my arm. "And you think that _I'm_ the one that has two personalities. What crawled up your ass and died since yesterday afternoon?"

"There is nothing up my ass," I snapped back, flicking his arm in return before hesitating at the corner and heading towards the cafeteria and the courtyard. "And yesterday was a fluke." He scoffed again. "Look, I'm just…"

"Oh," he said suddenly, lowering his voice, "Is it, you know… that time…?"

Why is it that guys think that anytime a girl is annoyed it's always because of her cycle? "I don't have my period," I hissed, glowering at him as two teachers passed, both of them giving me funny looks, "Not that my bodily functions are any of _your_ business anyway. I'm just not in a good mood, okay? So why don't you be a good little boy and go find some other poor defenseless girl to bother."

He started laughing and, ignoring my last comment, asked, "How could you not be in a good mood? You have a canceled class. That's forty-five minutes of no learning more than you thought would have had today. Today is a good day for you. Plus," he added, reaching out and prodding his finger against my temple. "It's forty-five minutes of more time with me. It's like Christmas came early for fuck's sake."

"I was sold until your last point," I retorted, ducking into the cafeteria, "And stop touching me." It wasn't completely full and actually looked pretty empty for a lunch period, but it was a nice day out so most of the guys had probably already headed outside to the wall ball courts. I didn't see Taylor or Davidin there anywhere, but I was pretty sure that they would have disappeared to the library. I couldn't see any of Briton's friends lurking in the corners, either, which meant that I wasn't going to be able to ditch him anytime soon. Goodie.

"Wanna hang out?" he offered, following me towards the front of the lunch line as I reached for a tray of French fries. I rolled my eyes, moving past the stacks of Vitamin Water, and smiled at the elderly lunch lady, reaching into my pocket to pull out a few dollars. Briton stepped in front of me and shook her hand, saying "'Sup Alice?" and picking up my fries. And then walking away with them. I gaped after him, taking my sweet time in noticing that Alice was opening the cash register and putting in the money that he'd sneakily handed her before. I also took my time in noticing that, as he gestured for me to follow him into the courtyard, he was slowly eating _my_ fries. Rushing after him, I muttered angrily to myself, finally catching up as he pushed open the door.

"Can I have my food back?"

"Technically," he said, holding the door open for me as I stepped out into the warmth, squinting up at the sun, "It's my food. Because, you know, I paid for them." He popped another fry into his mouth. "But I'm in a giving mood right now, so I guess I'll share." I reached out to snatch them back from him, but he held them above his head, smirking at me as I realized that my short little arms just weren't going to cut it.

"Briton, seriously—"

"Say please," he taunted, lowering them slightly. I glared at him as he moved towards one of the bright red tables in the courtyard, sitting down with my food. I followed him again, trying to take the tray back, but he moved it out of my reach. "Have a seat, Montez. Let's bond over fried greasy food." I tried—and failed—to grab the friesagain before finally taking a seat across from him, dropping my bag to the ground with a resounding thump.

"You're fucking lucky that I'm hungry," I growled, snatching the edge of the tray and tugging the fries towards me on the tabletop. "Because if I wasn't, I would totally be kicking your ass right now." He smiled at me, pulling them back so that they sat directly in the middle.

"You're fucking lucky that I'm sharing," he teased. "After all, I bought the fries and I don't technically have to share them with you at all." I rolled my eyes, grabbing a particularly crispy one off the top and popping it into my mouth, crunching it between my teeth with satisfaction. There's nothing like fried greasiness wrapped around a previously healthy chunk of potato. It was almost enough to make me forget about the overbearing sack of irritation sharing my lunch.

"Can you at least avoid eating everything?" I sighed, flicking his finger away from the longest fry, draped across the entire pile.

"I can't help it. I'm like a vacuum." He snatched the fry that I picked right out of my fingers, over-exaggeratedly sucking it into his mouth. "You'd better eat fast or you're gonna totally miss out." I rolled my eyes and he glared at me, "Can you get over yourself already, Montez?" I started, sitting up straight and staring at him open-mouthed. "You were totally chill yesterday when we were hanging out at the park."

"We were _not_ hanging out," I stuttered indignantly, but he talked over me.

"There was no bitching, there were no insults—well, okay, there were a few insults, but they were jokes. You were joking around like a normal person and everything was fine—nobody spontaneously combusted or anything—so come down of your Bolton high-horse and fucking relax. Contrary to what you may think, you're _not_ too good to share a tray of fries with the lowly Briton Walker. So shut up with the eye-rolling and the 'you're an ass' and just fucking eat." I stared at him and my stomach clenched around itself, frowning at him as he shifted casually through the mountain of fries. He'd just ripped me a new one, and there he was, pulling out a short fry and wrinkling his nose, acting like he hadn't just verbally slapped me in the face. "These are missing something," he said thoughtfully, holding up another fry to examine it in the sunlight as though he hadn't just told me off beyond all reason and left me with the feeling of having been punched in the stomach. "Ah ha," he exclaimed, stuffing it into his mouth as he rose from his seat. "We forgot the ketchup."

"We?" I muttered after him huffily, picking at the side of my finger. "I believe _you_ were the one to leave the lunchroom with the food. _You_ forgot the ketchup."

It is never fun to be told off. When some random kid in your math class tells you to shut up because your jokes aren't funny, it hurts a little, but it's easy to brush off because, really, what the hell do they know? When a friend tells you that they're sick and tired of hearing you talk about getting a new touch-screen phone, it hurts a little and it kind of lasts for a little while because you just wanted to share how excited you were but you can understand that at some point it became bragging. When a guy that you've probably had about ten minutes of worthwhile conversation with tells you that you're acting like a snobby two-faced bitch, it hurts because it's like, damn, that's really how you come off to people. And it hurts more than a little. And I don't think that I'm too good for Briton. Well, there was never actually a decision process where I weeded through all the boys in East High and sorted them into piles of worthy and not worthy. Troy and Briton never got along. By default that seemed to mean that Briton and I wouldn't get along, either.

He does have a point though. I am kind of a bitch when it comes to him. But it's not totally my fault. He is _clearly_ an instigator. I mean, come on. There's clearly instigation taking place all the time. Like when he talks about how sucky Troy is. Or when he… tries to be nice to me in parks. (Okay. It's a lame argument. Fine. Shut up.) But I guess I could try to be a little more open minded and not blindly bitchy to him. Fine. God.

Slouching as I leaned my elbows against the white plastic, I sighed and drummed my fingers against the tabletop. I figured that if I were in one of those older television shows, I would be the little girl who had to stay after class to clap erasers and write "I must not be awfully mean to Briton" over and over again on the blackboard. Tracing my fingertip over the table, I carefully outlined the words in script.

"I… must… not… be—"

"Whoa, you're still here," he said excitedly, plopping back down into his seat with two little cups of ketchup as I cleared my throat and pulled my arms back to my lap. "I kind of though you would have ditched while I was gone. I forgot to bind you to the bench with the shackles I brought." He smiled, and I was kind of freaked out by the way I just immediately smiled back at him. Catching myself before I broke out into a full on grin, I reached out for one of the small cups.

"You were going to come back bearing ketchup," I shrugged, mumbling softly and picking another fry off the stack. "Like I was gonna miss that. Please."

He continued to smile. "Okay. It's not exactly an admission of non-hatred, but I'll take what I can get." Then he winked at me and I immediately looked back down at my food. We ate in silence for the next few minutes, except for the one brief moment where he cleared this throat because our fingers collided while reaching for the same fry. Then he chuckled lightly.

"What?" I asked, glancing over my shoulder. I didn't mean to be acting all suspicious of him and expecting that his weird friends were standing behind my back making monkey faces, but it's required that I be cut some slack because I only made the promise to myself to be nicer about six minutes ago. Old habits die hard.

"Nothing," he said. "It's just that the freshmen all look very confused."

I rolled my eyes and cursed under my breath. Like I said, old habits die hard. "Well, I can't imagine why. I mean, it's not like last week you sent around a list likening me to the black plague, or anything. It's not like you warned them to stay away from me or risk diseases and broken bones."

"I'm allowed to break my own rules if I want to. I made 'em, and I can ignore them if I so choose." Watching as he grabbed another fry, I giggled, to my absolute horror, as he left a large spot of ketchup sitting below his bottom lip. I stuck my hand into my back pocket and came out with a tissue, sticking it against his face and laughing at the bemused look in his eyes.

"You have stuff on your face."

"Oh, thanks."

He finished wiping off his chin, and I bit down on my bottom lip, dropping my eyes to the tabletop. I glanced at him really quickly and watched his eyes—his really, really, really, really green eyes—dart around. He's rather attractive. There's no denying that anymore. He's tall and he's tan and his hair always looks good. It's not too long and it's not too short. And his eyes are so bright. It's almost like there are these little neon light bulbs behind his eye sockets that light up his eyes and make the green so _green_. I may reserve the right to call him a jerk and whatnot, but I just can't call him ugly without lying.

"I think you're faking this one," I said suddenly, dipping another fry into the ketchup.

"Huh?"

"You said that I didn't know which personality you were faking. I think you're faking the whole jerkface kindly paying for my lunch and claiming to be a good guy at heart thing. I think you're faking it."

He dropped the tissue onto the tabletop and leaned forward slightly. "Why would I fake that?"

"Because you think it'll get you girls. Which it might."

"Oh really?" he chuckled, raising his eyebrows.

"Yeah. The girls who still believe that underneath this male bravado thing there actually can be a decent person. The girls with the bad-boy complex who want a guy who's all tough on the outside but is a total goofball inside."

"And are you falling for it?" he asked, popping two more fries into his mouth. I shook my head and leaned forward to place my elbows on the table, ignoring the fact that it kind of brought our faces closer together and meant that I could kind of feel his shallow breath against my cheek.

"Not at all."

He smiled, and I noticed how perfect his teeth were. "Then it's not working very well, is it?"

-x-

-x-

It felt weird to spend a half hour talking to Briton in the courtyard while we shared the remainder of a tray of French fries. Instead of randomly spewing out insults, we'd actually started legitimately talking about things that I would talk to (dare I say it!) a friend about. I couldn't begin to explain why we were suddenly able to discuss the horrors of homework and the awesomeness that used to be the Rugrats. I don't know why the very sight of him didn't make me want to puke up my small breakfast, and I don't know why it seemed like a switch had been flipped and we were able to talk. We just were. For some reason, we were able to carry on a totally normal conversation. (I know. Bugging out. And I know. That switch was probably me. But I don't particularly want to hear that I'm the reason that Briton and I can't get along and that is has absolutely nothing to do with him. I just don't.)

The French fries were almost gone when he suddenly got very quiet. I stopped talking for a while too, mostly since he stopped answering me and I felt like a doofus talking to myself, and we sat there exchanging these shy little glances. He kept smiling at me and I felt my arms getting tingly.

Then he licked his lips and asked me a question I hadn't been expecting.

"So, are you actually planning on going to that dance thing next week?"

I shrugged, "I dunno. I don't really like going because I usually spend all my time babysitting Troy and Chad to make sure that they don't get too drunk on spiked punch. I'd rather just stay home, but I kind of feel like I have to go, you know? Keep 'em out of trouble."

He nodded at me and pulled his iPod out of his pocket. "I heard they're getting a DJ or something so that there'll be good music at least." He held out an ear bud to me, and I took it from him, craning my neck forward to relieve the tension on the short white wire and unintentionally bringing our faces very close together once again. Nothing was playing, and I glanced down.

"Can I…?" I asked, pointing at his iPod as I shifted to kneel on the bench seat.

"Yeah, sure. Go ahead."

I picked it up and scrolled down to the shuffling option, clicking the center of the wheel and relaxing my shoulders as I waited for the music to begin. A song I didn't know started, and I drummed my finger on the table while I waited for it to get better.

"So—"

My fingers hit against something and I jolted, staring down at his hand sitting flat beside the empty tray of fries. I hurriedly looked back up. "Sorry. That's uh…" I stopped drumming my fingers and moved my hand away. "Sorry."

"No, no, it's okay."

"You were saying?"

He swallowed, "No, I was just saying… So, you guys all go… You guys go to the dances as a group?" I blinked. "I mean, they don't get dates or anything, huh?"

I shook my head. "Um, we used to do that all the time. And we skipped most of the dances last year. But I don't think they're planning on getting dates. So I guess we were going to go as a group. Which is good. Because it means I don't have to bribe someone to be my date."

"Oh, oh." He swallowed again. "So, you wouldn't be interested in going with, like, a date then. Since you're going as a group."

I stared at him for a good while. Why was everyone making such a big deal out of this dance? It was a random dance! It wasn't prom. It wasn't homecoming. It wasn't even the Halloween or Christmas or Valentine's Day dance or anything. It was just some stupid dance. Nobody ever cared about them before. Why now? What's in the water in this town?

"I don't think so."

"You don't think so."

"No, I don't think so."

"Oh."

I glanced around the courtyard, my eyes flickering around and my foot trying to casually keep time with the new song playing, when I felt something against my hand. I glanced down and found his hand there again, but this time he was the one who had done the touching. I looked at him and felt my forehead wrinkle.

"What are you doing?"

His eyes—those bright green orbs that seem like lights are making them shine—widened, and he yanked his hand back as though I dropped a match on his skin. "Nothing. I'm not doing anything." Pulling the bud out of his ear, he grabbed the tray and jumped to his feet, bringing them to the trashcan without another word. I took three deep breaths before he came back, telling myself to calm down and that the period would be over soon, and the hazy fog of awkward discomfort that had just settled around the table would soon be gone and I would be free to go to class.

Briton came back to sit down, not bothering to pick up the headphone again, and I skipped to the next song seeing as he wouldn't mind. The song was "Can't Fight This Feeling" and it made me want to reach across and slap him. I mean… What are the chances?

He coughed. "Are you totally sure that you wouldn't want to take a date?"

The bell rang suddenly and I hesitated in standing. Was I still supposed to answer that with an awkward, "Yeah, I'm pretty sure…" or was I supposed to ignore it and pretend to have been saved by the bell? Briton stared back at me, his mouth opening slightly several times as though he wanted to say something, maybe to repeat his question. I raised an eyebrow nervously and, finally, he managed, "Where, uh… Where are you going? This period, I mean. To class. Which class?"

"Um, science," I told him. "It's back in the four-hundred wing."

"Oh, cool," he said, following my lead and rising to his feet. "My class is back that way, too. I'll walk with you." He held the door open for me as we walked back into the building, and I walked beside him down the hallway, switching the headphone to sit in my left ear as he fell into step on my right. "So…"

"Alright, just stop," I said, taking a deep breath. "I'm not stupid. I know you're asking me to the dance. Again." He averted his eyes very quickly. "Why? Why would you want to go on a date with me?"

"Why wouldn't I?"

"That's not an answer."

He chuckled, shaking his head. "Montez, hanging out with guys so much has totally warped your mind. Aside from the fact that you're intensely hot, you're, like, the perfect girl. You need to get some new friends who—"

"You're a liar. And I like my friends," I insisted, cutting him off. "And I'm not going to go out and get some girl friends just so that guys in this school feel more comfortable asking me out."

"Not the point." He slung his arm around my shoulders. "It's not about the guys being comfortable asking you out. It's about you being comfortable being asked out. You're awesome. And guys don't ask you out when you hang with your dweebs because they're all threatened by whatever mysterious hold Bolton has on you, so you don't see it. But I see it. And I'm telling you that you're awesome. And I'm asking you out. So this is like the epitome of awesomeness for you."

"You think a lot of yourself, don't you?"

"Of course." He squeezed my shoulder. "But I think a lot of you, too."

I hated that my breath actually caught in my throat. "Shut up."

"So defensive," he teased, "And about a small compliment."

"Shut up." I crossed my arms as he pulled me closer to him, staring at my feet.

"God, what would you do if I called you sexy?"

I ducked my head, "Shut up!"

"Oh-ho," he chuckled, "Montez you are the most gorgeous creature that I have ever shared a meal with."

"Briton."

"You take my breath away."

"I'm not listening."

"So beautiful."

"Oh look. My classroom."

He followed me to the door and dropped his arm from my shoulders, grabbing for my hand and bringing it up to his mouth, managing his brush his lips against the back of my palm before I could yank it away. "How lovely thou art."

"Briton!"

"Alright, alright. I'll leave you alone. But I'm not gonna let this go, because you are ridiculously oblivious to how hot you are and I think someone needs to remind you that just because you hang out with guys who have no idea what they're missing doesn't mean that other people haven't noticed your supreme sexiness." I cocked my head and clicked my tongue, rolling my eyes. "But I'll go now because I think Bolton's about to blow his top and I'm about to be late—" He smirked, "Not that I care, of course. But I'll see you later."

"Don't count on it, Mr. Bad-Boy-complex," I replied.

He grinned, "Well, now I have to count on it. You're about to induce stalker-Briton. Dude, don't say I didn't warn you about the shrunken heads and stuff."

"Ah, to the contrary, I'm looking forward to them. A person can never have enough miniaturized severed heads."

"See you later," he winked, "Sexy."

"Shut up!" I squealed, shoving at his arm as he walked away. He flashed me a grin and a thumbs up as he rounded a corner, and I tried to fight the way the corners of my mouth pulled up, putting a hand over my mouth as I backed into my science classroom.

Troy was glaring at me as I walked over to him. The smile disappeared and I lowered my hand. It was actually more of a glower. He was pissed.

"Really?" he demanded the second I took my seat beside him at the lab bench. "Really, you're hanging with Briton Walker _again_?"

I frowned, pulling my binder out of my bag. Hello, big brother. Nice to see you, too. "What's the big deal?"

"The big deal is that it's Briton Walker."

"It's not like we're getting engaged. We just shared some fries in the courtyard." Overreaction much?

"You shared fries with him? You actually sat down and ate lunch with him?"

"He stole my food right off the lunch line!" I defended.

His eyes widened, "He stole—"

"No, okay, he actually paid for it. But that's not the point."

"No, you're right. The point is that you sat down and ate lunch that Walker paid for. You went on a lunch date with him."

"I did not."

"You totally did. You had a romantic little in-school lunch date in the courtyard. And you were totally flirting with him just now."

"I was not!"

"You touched his arm!"

"So?"

"So," he emphasized, "Touching a guy's arm is, like, the most obvious girl flirting move ever."

I blinked. "I touch your arm all the time. That's how I get your attention."

"N-not the point," he blanched, turning away from me and staring at the front of the room. His ears turned red. "That's different. You're not interested in me. I'm your friend."

"I'm not interested in him either. Just because he spent the better half of the period trying to convince me to go to the dance—"

"Does he have no boundaries?" he hissed, his fists clenching.

"It's not like I'm going to say yes."

"But still—"

"Can you just leave it?"

"Why are you defending him?" he demanded. "God, he stalks you for a day and a half and suddenly you're like all the other idiot girls drooling over him."

"Screw you," I snapped. "I'm not drooling over anyone. And even if I was it wouldn't be any of your business who I decided to drool over."

"He's an ass!"

"And if I wanted to drool over him I would, and you couldn't stop me!"

"Do you hear yourself?"

"Do you hear _your_self? You sound like a jealous boyfriend! Or a brother with a daddy complex!" I think I like saying that people have complexes. I think it makes me feel powerful. I think I have some sort of a power-tripping complex. (That's a joke.)

The bell rang again and I turned away from Troy, reaching for my science book and slamming it down on the desk, narrowly avoiding crushing his thumb beneath its eight hundred or so pages.

"Gabriella!" Mrs. Cavalari called my name and I looked up. "No electronics in my classroom. You know the rule. Put it away." I frowned, confused, until Troy reached over and tugged the headphone from my ear. Reaching into my pocket, my eyes widened as I found Briton's iPod nestled inside.

-x-

-x-

I felt him come up behind me before he put his hands on my waist before he said anything. His head dropped onto my shoulder and he sighed. I refused to lean back into him, keeping my spine rigid, and he moved his hands to cup my elbows. "Guess who's a jackass?"

I only needed the one guess. "You."

"Yup." Troy moved to lean against the lockers beside mine, his arms crossed. "I'm a jackass."

"Yup."

He watched me pull my jacket out of my locker and swing it around my shoulders. "I don't like it when you're mad at me. It makes school really boring." I shrugged and pushed my locker closed. It didn't sound like much of an apology to me. "It's really hard to not talk to you." He laughed lightly to himself. "Or, you know, to talk to you and not get talked back to." I shrugged again and walked off down the hallway. He followed, pulling me off to a fairly empty spot. "Look, I'm sorry that I was acting like a jerk, but I just don't get how you can be all nice to him and stuff. I thought you hated him."

"I do," I said. "Well, okay, maybe I don't totally hate him. But I don't really like him either. It's not like he's my new best friend or anything. I'm just trying not to be such a ridiculous… so unnecessarily evil to him."

"Yeah, that would be the part that I don't get. Because it's not unnecessary. He's a jerk."

"I know you think he's a jerk. But aside from the list he really hasn't done very much to me."

"You're always fighting with him," he pointed out. "Aren't you?"

"Yeah," I admitted, "But it's usually because I let some tiny little snide comment go straight to my pride."

"Well, fine. But what happened to 'your enemies are my enemies' and stuff?"

"I don't know. I just… I've never know Briton as anything other than the biggest jerk who ever walked the planet. But that's because of you," I explained. "I'd never really talked to him before. And then I talked to him for a little bit and…" I hesitated. "I don't know. I guess it just seemed to me like he didn't deserve all the crap that I was giving him."

"But he does."

"To you," I added, "To me he's just kind of annoying. So I'm laying off."

"Since when does laying off consist of flirting and lunch dates?"

"It wasn't a lunch date, and there was no flirting," I said. "Just leave it alone, okay?"

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Look, I don't want to be Aaron or your dad. But because I'm your number one best friend it means it's my business who you drool over. Because I have to make sure that the guys aren't asses. Like Briton."

"And I told you," I insisted, "That I'm not drooling over Briton."

"Promise?" He held out his pinky finger. I smiled, wrapping my finger around his.

"Promise."

He tugged me closer via pinky and wrapped me in a hug. "Dude, you're my lunch date."

"Only when you have good food. Or money."

"No. Always."

"Only—"

"No," he said, ruffling his hands through my hair and laughing as I pathetically tried to fight him off. "My lunch date."

-x-

-x-

**Author's Note:** So, it has been many months since I updated, and I have no excuses. I had a lot of this chapter written a while ago, but I just wasn't feeling it for a long time and that's why nothing came about. I feel completely awful, because I really do love this story and I know that some people out there love it too and I hate disappointing people when more and more time goes by without anything from me. But I guess what's done is done, and now all I can say about that is that I'm truly very sorry for the wait. There is no excuse for me making such loyal and patient readers wait for over six months for a simple chapter update. On the good news front, I have some time off this upcoming week, so I'll try to do as much writing as possible.

I think I'm falling in love with Briton. But at the same time, I really want to be hugged via pinky. Good thing I'm the author and my imagination can have its cake and eat it too!

Okay, time once again to ask for the comments and constructive criticism. I don't really deserve the thoughtful consideration that so many of you have given me, but your reviews and enthusiasm for my work have really been a large part of what drives me to write. Today, when I was finishing up this last section, I took a break to look back at all the wonderful comments and I just said to myself, "That's it. If I can't bring myself to finish this for me, I'm going to finish it for _them_."


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